GATE — Thus, the CARAVEL sailed into uncharted waters…
by der Reichtangle
Summary: Invaders that came from the sea... a whole world to discover beyond the known waves... a nation seeking to relive its days of glory past at long last... and a soldier dragged into this mess when he just wanted to go to Comic-Con. "Raios partam, pá!" [Gate - Jietai Kare no Chi nite, Kaku Tatakeri, reimagined in a High Seas AU setting]
1. Proposição e Invocação

**GATE — Thus, the CARAVEL sailed into uncharted waters…**

* * *

 _As armas e os barões assinalados,_  
 _Que da ocidental praia Lusitana,_  
 _Por mares nunca de antes navegados,_  
 _Passaram ainda além da Taprobana,_  
 _Em perigos e guerras esforçados,_  
 _Mais do que prometia a força humana,_  
 _E entre gente remota edificaram_  
 _Novo Reino, que tanto sublimaram;_

* * *

 **July 19th, 2022**

 **Morning**

 _*click*_

"…finally we check on Madeira, which continues to experience rather unusual cool weather for this time of the year, with temperatures currently rounding the low 20s. The Institute for Sea and Atmosphere is attributing the phenomenon to an atypical depression forming around the Canary Islands. Also noteworthy, a heavy blanket of fog has descended the most of the island's south, especially affecting the Funchal city area. Road authorities are issuing caution to all drivers, urging morning commuters to moderate their speed. Conditions are however expected to be normalized by midday, after which the inhabitants can expect clear skies and temperatures closer to the 30s together with high levels of air humidity, as is typical for the month of July. Back to you…"

"Thank you. I'm certain they'll appreciate whatever reprieve they can get from the tropical heat. We'll be back for News of the Morning at 7, after a short commercial break…"

 _*click*_

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 _ ***BREAKING NEWS***_

"Good morning. We interrupt the scheduled programming to bring to our viewers last-minute news. An unknown situation appears to be developing in Funchal, Madeira. Reports arriving at our studio from our branch offices in the island give account of a brewing tumult originating in the Marina. Though I should stress that these are unconfirmed as of now, we've been also receiving messages from our colleagues stationed in Funchal that tell of scenes of panic, of people running away from the docks, leaving their vehicles behind in a hurry. As of now, we've no way of telling the nature or cause of this commotion are, as we await for more information to arrive at our station. We'll, of course, keep you up to date of any new developments to the best of our ability. So please, stay tuned for more information as it comes…"

 _*click*_

"…pictures continue to arrive at our website, and various other social media outlets. This picture here in particular, taken by a local citizen from Forte de São Tiago, grants us a view on what is happening at the Marina. As you can see, several dozen ships, resembling what at first glance seem wooden cruise liners, are occupying the whole stretch of the bay and beyond. And if we zoom in… here, we can see numerous smaller boats heading ashore, each with several passengers aboard them…"

 _*click*_

"…112 calls, words, pictures and videos keep pouring out of Funchal, each painting an increasingly clearer picture of the utter chaos that reigns in the city's downtown. Total panic, as thousands of local residents and tourists alike desperately try to flee what appear to be hundreds, if not thousands, of heavily-armed assailants. It is easy to assume that these individuals are related in some manner to the strange ships that landed earlier today. There… there are strong indications of multiple casualties among the civilians, those that could not reach safety in time. We warn you that the following scenes may harm the sensitivities of our more susceptible viewers. Viewer discretion is highly advised…"

 _*click*_

"…sea monsters, as one bystander managed to describe before her call was abruptly cut off. The last sound being a wailing shriek. Many are the identical testimonies, a word-for-word description, that have managed to escape the warzone that is Funchal at this current hour. Of humanoid monstrosities walking besides armor-clad, but still distinctively human, combatants, indiscriminately attacking anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. For the most part, these creatures seem to be amphibian in nature, 'Homens-Rã' (Frog-Men) as one eyewitness portrays them. Other images showcase different types of these strange beasts, sharing a semblance with crustaceans, cephalopods and even tortoises. What's more, though blurred, by these pictures we can also spot several winged creatures flying overhead, swooping in to attack…"

 _*click*_

"…a video of several local elements of the PSP and GNR engaging the numerous attackers in the streets of Madeira's capital. It's becoming evident by the lack of return fire, that the latter group does not possess firearms, opting instead to charge in against the entrenched public security forces. Adopting slow moving, tightly packed formations, similar to a roman testudo, they become easy targets for the officers' small arms fusillade, and tear gas deployed en masse by the Public Intervention Corps, their ranks quickly breaking under the sustained punishment. In scenes reminiscent of a medieval battlefield, police in full riot gear give battle in pitched close quarters combat against the stunned invaders and, owing to their superior equipment and training, quickly coming out on top. Reports also indicate that troops from the local Army unit, Garrison Regiment Nº3, are beginning to arrive at the scene, providing much needed assistance to the beleaguered police forces and aiding them in restoring public order within the city…"

 _*click*_

* * *

 _E também as memórias gloriosas_  
 _Daqueles Reis, que foram dilatando_  
 _A Fé, o Império, e as terras viciosas_  
 _De África e de Ásia andaram devastando;_  
 _E aqueles, que por obras valerosas_  
 _Se vão da lei da morte libertando;_  
 _Cantando espalharei por toda parte,_  
 _Se a tanto me ajudar o engenho e arte._

* * *

 **Afternoon**

 _*click*_

"'…for all intents and purposes, the country is presently in a state of war. The Armed Forces of our nation are expected to act accordingly.' the Chief of the General Staff of the Portuguese Armed Forces declared shortly after midday, following an extraordinary session of the country's National Assembly. Other NATO and EU nations' governing bodies are too convening to discuss the developing situation, and the UN has already announced a date for a conference to examine the bizarre incident in Madeira. Stay tuned for more…"

 _*click*_

"…a state of emergency has been declared throughout all national territories. The Navy's Immediate Reaction Force has already set off towards Madeira, with several companies of _fuzileiros_ , Army _commandos_ and airforce special groups being flown to the island ahead of its arrival. The possibility of a terrorist attack has been, as of now, officially been unruled by local Portuguese authorities given what's known of the perpetrators, especially their conduct during the attack. Nonetheless, the government spokesperson indicated that the incident is being classified as an instance of terrorism, adding 'O que mais chamariam a esta barbárie?' (How else would one describe this barbarism?). In addition to the deployed assets, Spanish and Moroccan naval vessels were also sighted heading…"

 _*click*_

[Reporter approaches an injured civilian, visibly covered in blood. The man appears aloof.]

"Excuse me, sir! We're live for RTP. Any word you can give our viewers…? Any family you wish to inform of your whereabouts-?"

"Sangue né meu…" (Not my blood…)

"Any… anything else you wan-?"

"…sangue né meu, pá…" (…not my blood, man…)

[The man moves way from the camera, reporter quickly goes to address a woman nearby.]

"Excuse me, ma'am! We're live for RTP. Can you-?"

"YA ne govoryu po –portugalski… Not speak Portuguese, do not speak…"

"My apologies. Hmm…"

[Reporter tries to get attention of another woman, who turns around when she taps her on the shoulder, startled.]

"Excuse me, ma'am! We're live for RT-"

"Nandeshou!? Hanattoite! Fack off!"

[Noticeably downbeat, the reporter turns to the audience at home.]

"As… as you can see, the survivors are still very much reeling from that have been events unfolding since this morning. Their daily routine rudely broken by the appearance of the otherworldly ships and the invaders that came ashore. The Continente hypermarket where we now stand, rather than seeing people filling its aisles for another busy shopping day, is now becomes a safe haven for those that managed to escape the fighting that still rages outside, as you can hear. One cannot possibly imagine what goes through the minds of these people at the moment-"

[A teenager suddenly grabs the front of the camera and turns it towards himself, frenetically jumping up and down while gluing his face to the screen.]

"BOMBA NELES-!-!-! BOMBA NELES CARALHO-!-!-!" (Bomb them! Bomb them f****** hell!)

 _*click*_

"…deafening explosions continue to thunder in the distance, as the entire bay area is illuminated by the flames that consume what little survives of the massive wooden hulls of the invader's vessels. Artillery batteries, in tandem with several attack aircraft, have been pounding the moored armada relentlessly ever since the military retook control of the Marina, driving most of the enemy's ground forces back to their ships. It did little to help them. Seeing their ground assault driven off, some of the rear elements of the enemy flotilla tried to sail away just as the first NATO jets arrived. You can see the results… those ships now nothing but burnt husks. Worse still for the invaders, their remains are now effectively trapping many vessels between the shore and the Pontinha jetty, where the main section of the fleet had congregated. Not that any would find reprieve should they escape into the high sea, seeing as NATO aircraft continue to mercilessly hunt down any unidentified…"

 _*click*_

"…contrasting with the carnage, now befalling the original instigators, we can now witness the jubilant cries of the islands inhabitants, such as those around the cell operator filming these pictures. An outburst of relief, after the harrowing ordeal many had to go through today, mixed no doubt with the vindictive satisfaction of seeing those who caused it now facing their own reckoning. Following their hellacious day, hardly any can be at fault for being pleased with seeing the sky falling down on the invaders. It should be noted to our viewers that the images you're seeing were taken from Fortaleza do Pico, were many civilians wound up seeking refuge during initial stages of the crisis. The old fortress has the scene of veritable siege, though further casualties were thankfully avoided. This was in large part thanks to the actions of what many civilians and security personnel alike are already praising as 'O Herói do Pico' (The Hero of Pico), that has since been identified as…"

* * *

 _Cessem do sábio Grego e do Troiano_  
 _As navegações grandes que fizeram;_  
 _Cale-se de Alexandro e de Trajano_  
 _A fama das vitórias que tiveram;_  
 _Que eu canto o peito ilustre Lusitano,_  
 _A quem Neptuno e Marte obedeceram:_  
 _Cesse tudo o que a Musa antígua canta,_  
 _Que outro valor mais alto se alevanta._

* * *

 **Night**

"…do not be mistaken, my fellow co-citizens. What happen in Madeira was nothing but an unprovoked attack against the soil of a sovereign nation… _our_ nation, _our_ Fatherland. And, as a sovereign nation, a victim of a savage act of aggression that resulted in numerous casualties among our compatriots and foreign nationals our esteemed guests, we are vindicated to respond in kind. Such atrocity cannot be allowed to go unanswered, never before, not now, not ever. Therefore, in the capacity as Commander-in-Chief of the Portuguese Armed Forces, and with the tacit consent and support from our allies in the European Union and NATO, I hereby authorize our military to employ whatever means, whatever measurement of force is deemed necessary, to bring these criminals to lawful justice. For the people of Portugal, for the people of Madeira, for the people of Funchal, for those fallen on this Nineteen of July, in the year of our Lord two thousand and twenty two… I swear they shall have it." — excerpt taken from televised declaration from the President of the Portuguese Republic, on what would be later known as the Funchal Incident, given on the night of July 19th.

Hundreds of world leaders have, over the hours, expressed their condolences towards the victims and solidarity with the country, reiterating the President's call for justice.

* * *

 _E vós, Tágides minhas, pois criado_  
 _Tendes em mim um novo engenho ardente,_  
 _Se sempre em verso humilde celebrado_  
 _Foi de mim vosso rio alegremente,_  
 _Dai-me agora um som alto e sublimado,_  
 _Um estilo grandíloquo e corrente,_  
 _Porque de vossas águas, Febo ordene_  
 _Que não tenham inveja às de Hipocrene._

* * *

 **July 20th, 2022**

HEADLINE: BATTLE AT THE SAVAGE ISLANDS

Portuguese soldiers, supported by their NATO allies, have engaged the unknown enemy forces in the Savage Islands. This small and remote archipelago, situated 280km southeast of Madeira and 165km north of the Canary Islands, is deserted for much of the year, the only signs of human presence being the outposts from the local National Forest Services. Following the incident at Funchal yesterday, Spanish naval command out of the Canaries, tipped off by a fishing vessel's radio broadcast, detected a large presence around the surrounding waters of the archipelago, late in the afternoon of the 19th. Preliminary surveillance discovered a sizeable armada of over a hundred ships, of varying sizes, their design consistent with those that came ashore at Madeira the previous day, anchored off the southwest chain of isles. In addition, it is believed that a contingent of ground troops was in the midst of turning the two largest islands into a permanent base of operations, given the construction works that were going on at the time.

In the wake of bombardment by the alliance's naval aviation, mainly targeting the invader's fleet, a mixed detachment of Portuguese and Spanish special forces, airlifted to the locale, recaptured both islands after a short, but furious firefight. Casualties from NATO consisted of a single F-16, ditched at sea due to engine malfunction, and minor injuries resulting from "… _umas putas de flechas, nada de especial_ …" (…some f****** arrowheads, nothing special…), according to 1st Lt. Almeida, field commander of the ground teams. Losses from the opposing side are considered heavy. The near entirety of the wooden fleet was sunk by the initial air attack, dragging most of its crews along with it, and over a thousand foot troops killed in the subsequent ground assault. Survivors are being transferred to the recently reactivated NATO Joint Force Command in Lisbon for processing and interrogation.

:

HEADLINE: STANDOFF AT _REINA DE LAS INDIAS_ ENDS

The last remaining pocket of resistance from the invaders in Funchal has finally been subdued, several hours before daybreak, following the joint Army and police operation abroad the luxury cruise liner _Reina de las Indias_. The ship had first been taken over during the initial phases of the invasion, and its numerous passenger kept captive aboard it. After the successful counterattack in the afternoon and the destruction of their fleet, the situation quickly devolved into a hostage crisis, with security forces holding off their advance due to fears over the lives of the civilians inside. Rescue operations were delayed till the brink of night, as local police command rationalized that the invaders lacked significant capability to fight in the dark, as was evident by the numerous camp fires they started throughout the _Reina_ 's upper deck. After controlled explosions took out the power in the rest of the ship, security personnel initiated the raid, and the _Reina_ was declared secured shortly before the 15 minute mark of the operation's start. Exact numbers haven't been officially advanced, but its estimated that among crew and passenger casualties are to be in the several dozens, the majority wounded. Reports are also coming in of widespread abuses, many sexual in nature, perpetrated by the attackers in the hours leading to the ship's liberation, drawing criticisms over the choice to delay the incursion until nightfall.

:

 **July 22nd, 2022**

HEADLINE: MORE SIGHTINGS OFF THE COAST OF AFRICA AND THE MID-ATLANTIC

Several more of the outlander's ships, these ones bearing a striking resemblance to Viking longships, have been sighted navigating the Atlantic. Given their fanned out positioning at the time of detection and detention, they seemed to be serving as scout ships for the main fleet in the Savages, destroyed in anchor on the 20th. Elements of both Iberian countries' maritime forces have been carrying out several nonstop patrol operations for these three past days in order to arrest these foreign combatants. Use of lethal force has been fully sanctioned should the crews resist detainment, although statements have clarified that it would only be applied in case of risk to the apprehending officer's lives. Some of these vessels managed to come ashore along the coast of Morocco, though no incidents such as that in Madeira occurred before they were apprehended by Moroccan authorities.

:

HEADLINE: JUST WHO ARE THE INVADERS?

Three days have passed since the entire fabric of modern society was shaken to its core by the events in Madeira. Many are those that ponder over the origins of the attackers, and to a lesser degree, on how did their presence went by undetected until said occurrence. From anonymous forum users to famous TV pundits, there's hardly any voice that hasn't taken to the waves to express their opinions on the matter, whether on the Internet or other mass media. The Funchal Incident, as it's being officially termed, has been setting trending records across just about every social media platform in the World, and continues to pick up steam as more developments continue to unfold, feeding the cycle of speculation. Unquestionably, the biggest topic of rumination are the characteristically humanoid, and seemingly sentient, sea monsters that were seen accompanying the human soldiers at Funchal. The most popular theory that has since emerged speaks of the reemergence of the ancient city of Atlantis, to which the subscribers also attribute the rather rudimentary technology with which they staged their invasion. Regardless of the answers we'll obtain, if any, this discussion its poised to last.

:

 **July 31st, 2022**

HEADLINE: "A GATE TO ANOTHER WORLD"

Those were the words chosen by the United Nations spokesperson at the press conference held at the UN Headquarters in New York, nearly two weeks since the Funchal Incident. Following the Emergency Summit at the United Nations held earlier that day, the existence of the non-natural, and by every accounts non-manmade, structure was disclosed to public knowledge. Situated at sea, between the southwest group's two largest islands in the Savage Archipelago, it bears the facade akin an ancient Greek temple, wholly enclosed from all sides save the one facing directly North, the eponymous gate. More baffling still, is that the buoyant structure is perfectly anchored in place, despite the ocean and wind currents in addition to the attempts made by the Portuguese Navy to move it.

Initial unmanned probes taken into its interior, shortly after the islands' recapture, have so far concluded that there an exit on the other side, leading to a whole different world than our own. Bearing the UN sanctioned designation of Special Maritime Region (SMF), it's believed that the invaders that came ashore at Funchal in the 19th originated from this area. Little else is known at the present time, or at least no more information has been publicly divulged yet. Statements concerning the Gate where subsequently given by most world governments, representatives of which attended the Summit, with miscellaneous attitudes regarding its sudden appearance and nature. Though individual nation's interests in relation to the foreign structure were given special focus, each and every declaration stressed the monumental importance of the occasion.

It's estimated that the initial announcement at the UN draw close to a record 3.5 billion spectators worldwide, nearly half of the entire world's population.

:

 **August 1st, 2022**

HEADLINE: PRESIDENT ANNOUNCES NEW ERA

The world's geopolitical scene continues the teeter with increasing precariousness, as NATO/EU vehemently defends its plans to launch an expedition into the Gate. This comes to a head with other major powers outside both entities, who are pressing for a much broader, multi-national UN-led mission. Accusations have been levied against the West of "thinly veiled neo-imperialism" in a "yet another attempt to exploit another World", besides acting without consent from the UN security council. The alliance countered these accusations by stating that its within their prerogative to enact unilateral action seeing that one of its members was attacked by a political entity from the other side of the Gate, which they also argued is beyond the UN's legal reach.

The most vocal of the latter voices is Portugal itself. The nation's government went on to claim it has jurisdiction over the Gate and the surrounding waters of the SMF seeing that the structure is located within their Exclusive Economic Zone, and thus fully within their right to explore. This assertion drew heavy protests by many nations, its allies including, not the least of which by its neighbor Spain, who was swift to reignite a dispute over the borders of the two countries' EEZ, which would bring the Gate under their area of exclusivity.

The day following the UN summit, the country's president once again took to the airwaves to address its citizens. In a fiery speech, that outside critics panned as overly patriotic and jingoistic in tone, more flair than substance, he urged the nation to embrace and commit as a whole to the coming endeavor in earnest. The Portuguese Head of State went on to describe the past weeks and events as "A Alvorada dos Novos Descobrimentos" (The Dawn of the New Age of Discovery) and deeming the REM (Região Especial Marítima - SMF in portuguese) as their new Orient. Among detractors of his views, many decried an utter lack of respect the usage a national tragedy to bolster one's self-image and to promote an anachronistic ideology rooted in the recovery of past vainglories. Nevertheless, according to the polls, the President's popularity has been steadily climbing since the 19th, soaring to record heights after his latest speech. Rising at a similar rate are also the numbers of enlistments in the country's armed forces, Navy notably.

:

 **August 7th, 2022**

HEADLINE: _CARAVEL_ SETS SAIL

In unison with every participant nation, today the National Assembly has voted, by near unanimity, to authorize the deployment of the Portuguese Armed Forces contingent participating in NATO's expedition through the Gate. The assembled task force, designated _CARAVEL_ after the emblematic ship used at the earlier stages of the Age of Discovery, is primarily composed by naval elements of the two Iberian countries, Portugal and Spain, plus vessels and air assets of the British, French and Moroccan navies, supported by the United States. The naval group is tasked with conducting a reconnaissance-in-force into the SMF, seize the other side of the Gate, and set a forward base of operations from which _CARAVEL_ can start exploring the surrounding the area. The ultimate objective of the operation consists in stopping any more incursions like that of July 19th, and establish formal relations with the native population, in hopes to prevent further needless bloodshed and acquire compensation for the Funchal Incident. Notwithstanding its diplomatic nature, the expedition is fully prepared to employ force as a means to reach that end, a NATO spokesperson guaranteed.

Many analysts were surprised by the lack of a direct US involvement in the mission, other than providing supply materiel and logistic support for _CARAVEL_ from our side of the Gate. The Pentagon's decision to restrain their contribution is being attributed to the American President's electoral promise of making the other member states pull their own weight and ramp up their contribution to the alliance. Other hypothesis range from mounting pressure at the homefront to avoid any more overseas entanglements, to respecting the claims of national sovereignty by his ally. Nevertheless, numerous American war vessels, including the supercarrier USS John F. Kennedy, are currently stationed at the Savage Islands to provide assistance to task force and secure it against external interferences. The latter was made all the more poignant after a Russian nuclear submarine was caught within a 50km perimeter of the archipelago. Overall command of all NATO forces in the area was given to Admiral Barry of the US Navy, though _CARAVEL_ operations will be headed by Admiral Albuquerque of the Portuguese Navy, appointed at the behest of the President of the Republic.

 _CARAVEL_ is scheduled to cross the Gate later this day…

* * *

 _Dai-me uma fúria grande e sonorosa,_  
 _E não de agreste avena ou frauta ruda,_  
 _Mas de tuba canora e belicosa,_  
 _Que o peito acende e a cor ao gesto muda;_  
 _Dai-me igual canto aos feitos da famosa_  
 _Gente vossa, que a Marte tanto ajuda;_  
 _Que se espalhe e se cante no universo,_  
 _Se tão sublime preço cabe em verso._

* * *

 **GATE** **—** **…and gave new worlds to the World.**

* * *

:

:

:

Welcome dear reader to my very first non-crossover fanfic… posted against my better judgment, as I'm already quite busy in IRL as of late and have another fic I'm dedicating my attention to (and I really don't to leave that unfinished).

Still, after jumping back to GATE for its second season (been saving it up so I can binge watch it), this whole idea 'take the Gate and place it somewhere else' simply cropped up and wouldn't let go until I wrote it down. At first it was just moving the Gate to where I live, but the more I thought about it the more it began to morph into a high seas AU owing to my country's rich history with salt water. All those verses in Portuguese are part of our national anthem FYI, because there's no better way to add some patriotic flavor to a story than that. After coming up with that, I merely began typing the ideas down and… well here you have it. A sort of introduction to the premise, I guess. I can't exactly promise that I'll continue the story (again really busy), much less update regularly, hence the newscast/newspaper style for the introduction. Don't want to go and introduce the characters, if this turns out to be a one-shot. So temper any expectations accordingly...

That's not to say I wouldn't like to hear from you. I would like it a lot actually, should you feel strong enough about it to warrant a review or a PM, positive or negative. I'm always available for a conversation, so don't be afraid to make yourself heard.

Thanks again for indulging this little project of mine… and apologize in advance if this turns out to be its sole child.

(Edit: As I'm progressing with the story, I decided to make some changes to this introductory chapter. First the name itself, which references the first 5 stanzas of _Os Lusiadas_ , which now serve as the dividers between sections instead of the national anthem. The last two stanzas are of particular relevance I feel, as the author is asking for inspiration to the nymphs of the Tagus, same way I'm taking inspiration from his poem.)


	2. Velho do Restelo

**GATE — Thus, the CARAVEL sailed into uncharted waters…**

* * *

 _Mas um velho, de aspecto venerando,_  
 _Que ficava nas praias, entre a gente,_  
 _Postos em nós os olhos, meneando_  
 _Três vezes a cabeça, descontente,_  
 _A voz pesada um pouco alevantando,_  
 _Que nós no mar ouvimos claramente,_  
 _C'um saber só de experiências feito,_  
 _Tais palavras tirou do experto peito:_

* * *

Gil hated the sea.

One would ask then why, in God's blue Earth, had he gone and sign up in the _Fuzileiros_ , whose job, by the patent definition of naval infantry, required that he came in contact with the salt water in some way, shape or form. The young man (30 is considered young, go figure) would tell those people, usually meaning either family, friends or the occasional bunch of random forum dwellers, that his distaste was an acquired one, not one he had been born with. Had 18-year old Gil known how much he would grow to despise that giant greenish puddle – the tedium, the dampness, the seasickness, the food, the cramped spaces, the bump-inducing bunks, the sunburns, the sunny weather, the really crappy Internet reception – he would've probably enlisted in the paratroopers or Army commandos. Or perhaps gone to university as the old man had insisted. Alas, by virtue of living in Lisbon, he had to attend a Government-mandated tour of the nearby naval/marine base, and his prospectively jobless self got suckered in by all the Spartan glamour and attached prestige of the profession. A stable paycheck wasn't bad either, seeing he had hobbies to pay for and over a quarter of his extended demographic group was wasting their early adult years stuck on unemployment queues. Stupid economy.

Still, his disdain could prove useful, he figured. Should he ever find himself assaulting a beach in some _Cu de Judas_ , maybe his aversion would compel him to charge forward through the sands with more vigor, away from the damn dank brine. The two hour or so helicopter ride to the Savages had been nice and relaxing at least, a rare chance to be alone with his thoughts given the commotion that where his last few weeks. And it definitely beat travelling by boat. Sadly, this brief period of peace was coming to an end, as the Lynx began its approach towards the largest of the islands, where the ground contingent had set up shop in preparation for the expedition. Gil couldn't help but to ponder if his descent from the blissful heavens above into the, quite fittingly named, _Ponta do Inferno_ was somehow symbolic of his coming fortunes. (Neither could he decide if he envied or pitied the linguistic ignorance of the non-Portuguese for not realizing they were quite literally standing in the Tip of Hell.)

The career soldier had an increasing gut feeling that he had somehow offended the Big Guy upstairs in some manner. Afterall, what other explanation could there be for his sequential bouts of monumental bad luck, if not divine punishment? Through the side window of the cabin, he could spot the hurricane of steel grey surrounding a colossal orange eye that stuck out like a sore thumb, even at that distance. The dome (which was actually a sphere with the bottom half underwater) covering the Almighty's ultimate mockery of his free will. For God had truly deemed him his private play-toy the past few days.

First it was engine malfunction.

Then the air controllers decided to go on a spontaneous strike.

Followed by the ground operators the day after.

A false bomb threat shutting down the airport for good measure.

His flight being diverted to Madeira due to heavy turbulence.

Subsequently grounded for three days due to the aforementioned bad weather.

And then, the big bearded bastard pulls out his coup-de-grace. Opening up some magical portal to a new world that spews out a bunch of medieval nutjobs hell-bent of pillaging and burning the _one_ city his string of ill-timed misfortunes had brought him to, that fateful 19th of July day, which was also incidentally 19 days ago. His year-long planned, two week vacation to Comic-Con ruined. _Ruined._ His mind kept weeping. It was like one of those Greek tragedies where the Gods in Olympus kept screwing with a poor man's life for shits and giggles.

As he pondered on what exactly had he done to earn the contempt of the Fates, the Navy Lynx touched down in one of the clearings near the shore, and quickly took off again after dropping off his sole passenger.

The first thing to greet him on the island was a banner sign that read 'Restelo', the name given to the base in a yet another attempt to draw a parallel to the Age of Discovery. Of course, for the non-Portuguese speaking crowd the staging area had another moniker. Some wise guy, a Brit if Gil had to make an educated guess, had painted the words 'Last' and 'Stop' precisely above and below the 'Rest' of 'Restelo'. The Rest-Stop was now how most referred to it as, and frankly it was a better designation, in the soldier's humble opinion. He supposed however came up with the original label was trying to be symbolic or whatnot, naming it after the place from which Portuguese ships would leave for the Indies, but that whole thing with making references to the 15th century was already tiresome and annoying. Ignoring his grievances, Gil made his way to the Portuguese section of the camp with some haste, particularly towards his CO's main office. Knocking on the door of the officer's barrack, he stepped inside when prompted by a voice from the inside.

"Soldier Eanes presenting himself to service, _Senhor_." — he was swift to declare while saluting the senior officer.

There was an uncomfortably long pause, as the rugged old man kept his eyes on the pile of documents atop his desk, leaving his subordinate to stand with his arm raised for the better part of a minute.

"…at ease." — he finally replied, prompting Gil to shift his stance — "You're late."

"I apologize. Though, in all honesty, I feel I can't really be held in blame for my tardiness, sir." — he argued in his defense.

"Where it any other occasion, anyone else, I would be very much inclined to call that a bunch of bull, _soldado_." — the Commodore commented, continuing to peruse through file holders to his left.

"You believe me then…?"

"Naturally. Heroes tend to have busy schedules. It tends to come with a propensity to arrive tardy."

"That's a bit of an overstatement, sir. I'm no hero…" — there was just something about that word that rubbed Gil the wrong way.

"Don't! Don't come to me with such modesties, _rapaz_." — the old grizzly snapped, his gaze finally raising to meet the young man's — "Save the humility for the blasted press. In my presence you're to be proud of yourself! The stuff you manage to pull off in Funchal…"

"…has been greatly exaggerated, and not by my doing." — he cut in, scratching the budding itch in the back of his neck — "The way the media speaks of it, you'd swear I single-handedly killed a thousand of those weirdos and drove them back to the sea."

"But you did save several thousand civilians. Equally as impressive from my point of view." — his CO pointed out — "Did you not, Eanes?"

"Yes…" — he had to admit — "...but that was merely directing traffic. Any cop could've done what I did."

"But no cop did, now did they!? That's point!" — he again pointed out, wagging his calloused index — "Regardless of your training and aptitude, you were a mere civilian at the time. One amid countless panicking noncombatants and an entire platoon of police officers. Yet, it was you who took charge of the situation and, from what I understand, devised the winning the strategy that broke the siege of Pico. _You_ saved those people's lives, when those Army rejects would be otherwise be running around headless!"

"That's a bit unfair, don't you think? Hardly anyone could expect a bunch of hardcore larpers and those creepy sea monsters to suddenly pop up out of the fog. Not to mention, at the end of the day, the cops were the ones who did the lion's share of the work protecting and retaking the city. If anything, the Navy is the one who dropped the ball, what with not detecting the massive fleet heading towards the island at a snail's pace." — the wrinkles on the Commodore's forehead got all the more pronounced at the accusation — "How _did_ they miss them anyway?"

"Bad weather hampering our surveillance mostly, among other factors that happen to strike at an inopportune time. It was a near perfect storm that left us blind, I'm told."

"Sounds like a weak excuse to me."

"Then I guess it's fortunate for the Navy General Staff that it's not up to you to decide whether it's a good enough of a justification or not."

"Given the number of people that died due to their little slip up..."

"End of discussion, Eanes. You're enough of a headache without pissing off the rest of the Admiralty. Here's your documentation... and the requisition forms to deliver in the arsenal." — approaching the CO's desk, Gil picked up the papers as he handed them over one by one — "And, finally... there's also that _other_ important topic to discuss between us, _soldado_."

"That being?" — he knew immediately by the way that last phrase was articulated that it was going to be anything but pleasant.

"Your promotion." — the Commodore placed two brand new shoulder marks on the table's edge.

"Oh… that." — the promotee sighed — "Any chance I can-?"

"No. Not this time, _soldado_." — his fleeting hopes were swiftly dashed — "How in HELL did you manage to go on for _12 years_ and still be a goddamn Corporal is beyond me... but that's not going to fly anymore. I'm astounded that they didn't kick you out of the Corps... or the whole Armed Forces for that matter."

"You could say I have connections." — he mentioned.

"Whatever the reason is, it's not important now. The Ministry of National Defense is having a hard time concealing the tiny matter of fact that their new hero is a bonafide first class slacker. It's a potential nationwide embarrassment." — Gil wasn't aware if that was his CO's opinion or the politicians'. Either way, 'embarrassment' felt a bit too strong of a word — "So the boys upstairs are pushing you over for a promotion, Don Corleone style. Whether you want it to or not, _rapaz_. Straight to officer."

"They can do that?"

"Oh, they can... and they shouldn't have to, given your bloody track sheet. You're now in the OF-1 grade. Congratulations, Sub-Lieutenant Eanes." — he placed the epaulettes on his free hand, a single looping gold line in each, that were to replace the two red chevrons on black he had on his shoulder sleeve.

"Thank you... not like I have a choice at this point."

"The pleasure is all mine." — the Commodore added with savory schadenfreude — "Pick up your equipment, and be present at nineteen-hundred for departure. Dismissed."

"Yes, Sir." — honed by years of drills, Gil readily saluted his CO. However, he still needed to acquire an important piece of information before leaving — "...just one more question, if I may?"

"Yes." — the old officer answered, knowing exactly which issue was on his (and everybody else's) mind — "There's going to be a connection on the other side. You lot will get your precious Internet."

"Hmmm... is it going to be decent at least? Usually the speed we get at sea is so crappy, it would almost be better if we just hadn't any and…" — why his brain decided to momentarily shut down and ask such a stupid question, the newly promoted sub-lieutenant would never know.

" _Rapaz_! I swear, if you make me utter the words 'back in my day'..." — the veteran's weary eyes burned with an ire befitting an angry father — "We are heading into a potential warzone! On uncharted territory, no less! Be thankful that the people in charge have decided to indulge this... obsession of yours! God knows none of you kids cannot function without it! _Malditos pirralhos!_ "

"Being on par with news back home is a good way to keep moral up and..." — his subordinate's attempt to justify himself akin throwing a bucket-full of water against a forest fire — "...I'll be quiet now."

"Head to the armory, grab your gear, and be sure not to arrive late when we're to leave." — he commanded in a significantly more curt tone of voice — " _Dis-pen-sa-do_!"

" _Sim, Senhor_."

* * *

— _"Ó glória de mandar! Ó vã cobiça_  
 _Desta vaidade, a quem chamamos Fama!_  
 _Ó fraudulento gosto, que se atiça_  
 _C'uma aura popular, que honra se chama!_  
 _Que castigo tamanho e que justiça_  
 _Fazes no peito vão que muito te ama!_  
 _Que mortes, que perigos, que tormentas,_  
 _Que crueldades neles experimentas!_

* * *

It was only when Gil turned over the requisition papers to the on-duty armory sergeant, that he noticed the conspicuously longer list of materiel catalogued in them. Beyond the expected standard equipment, Gil was handed an assortment of tactical gear such as a pocketed Kevlar vest, pads for every limb, a riot helmet, combat goggles, a night vision monocle, and even a gas mask among the all the paraphernalia. Given the anticipated nature of the forces they were to encounter on the other side of the Gate, perhaps it was only normal that Command opted to gear up the troops in a way more reminiscent of the Police's Intervention Corps than a _Fuzileiro_. If anything, he had seen first-hand how effective that kind of armor proved against the foreigner's blades and arrows, so their logic was sound in that regard.

However, though the extra protection it conferred was appreciated, actually having the entire equipment in front of him only made him think of how cumbersome it would be to wear (and haul) it around. The insufferable tropical heat bearing down outside only made that prospect all the worse. Never the most positive of individuals, the newly minted officer couldn't help but to think that they would stand to lose more men to heat exhaustion than enemy attack, due to this lack of foresight. How he wished the enemy had decided to attack during winter instead, or the Gate showed up someplace closer to the Arctic. (Or better yet, not at all.) The cold he could fight, but against the heat there was only so much a man could do, especially if he wanted to keep himself within the limits of public decency. But aside from his grievances with the weather, one other detail in particular about the apparel was pestering him.

"Blue?" — that being the choice for camo, patterned mostly in tones of light grey and teal.

"Not a Dragon, I suppose?" — the sergeant speculated, noting his patent distaste.

"Heavens, no. The old man would've pecked my face off."

"Eagle or Lion?"

"Just the national team. I like keep my distance from that blasted quagmire." — Gil clarified in stance on the sport/pseudo-religion of football — "I'm just not a fan of the color."

And even if he was, the choice was utterly stupid. Really, where exactly was blue camouflage meant to come in handy anyway? Naval infantry wasn't supposed to fight on the actual water. Perhaps it was like the UN blue helmets, meant to make the soldiers stand out among the natives. Perhaps it was suppose to instill fear instead, showing off that their soldiers were too brave to mask themselves in the background. Perhaps the brass thought the technological gap justified forgoing the need to be stealthy or subtle…

Or perhaps someone needed to ditch a bunch of otherwise useless uniforms somewhere. Gil figured that was it.

Besides the color and excess quantity of, the other aspect the stood out from the presented equipment was its embellishment. Stamped right above the heart on the chest-piece and battledress, on both sides of the helmet and sown into the left sleeve just above the national flag, was the official insignia of Task Force CARAVEL. A plain rectangle, cut diagonally from top-right to bottom-left, left side royal blue, right side white, with the latter section having the hollowed red Order of Christ Cross emblazed on it. Classy. A nice simplistic touch he had to admit, meant to represent the iconic triangular sail of a caravel against the blue of the ocean, ignoring that corner of his brain pointing out that that would mean that the boat either lost its main mast or tipped over to the side. Never a good omen.

"This may seem an odd request, but… I don't suppose you have a G3 tucked away somewhere back there, do ya?" — Gil inquired the requisition officer while packing away his gear.

"Can't say I do." — retying her hazelnut hair into a bun, the sergeant replied with a modicum of mischief — "Although… if I were to acquire, oh I don't know, an autograph from a certain Mr. Hero, then perhaps…"

"So… you do have one stashed away somewhere?" — he persisted.

"Still no…" — she put it to rest — "…but you'd make this armory sergeant's day, at least. I say a small effort to make someone else truly happy."

"I've to sign these requisition documents anyway. Can't it count as an autograph?" — the subaltern officer mentioned, filling out the choresome bureaucracy in rapid succession.

"But you can't write a dedicatory in those." — she did her best to heighten the cute features of her egg-shaped face, in the hopes her crying puppy eyes would make him change his mind — "Come on, the pen's in your hand already. Is it really that much of a hassle to write your name on an extra piece of paper?"

"After doing so ad nauseam for the past three weeks, it kinda is. You'd be surprised how quickly you can grow to hate writing your own name." — Gil sighed, scribbling it down on blank piece of paper nevertheless. A decade or so in the Armed Forces had thought him that it was always better to be in the good graces of the person responsible for supplying you with your equipment. And if a small gesture would bring her that much joy, then he could swallow his disinclination and accede to her wish.

"To Ana Esteves. Be sure to put in my full name." — but for every good deed done, soon greed started rearing its ugly head.

"Fine…"

"My number one fan…"

"Sure…"

" _A mais bela de toda a Marinha_ …"

"Don't push it."

"Oh, come on. It's not like you'd be lying." — with vanity following closely behind.

"Well, I don't know for a fact if you're indeed 'the fairest in all the Navy', and I don't like to indulge other people's illusions of grandeur, Sergeant. You learn it's rather dangerous on a battlefield." — Gil lectured in a manner befitting his new rank.

"Real charmer." — though one could easily make out her comment to be sarcastic, her eyes were bit too lecherous to comfort — "But I happen to like that kind of honesty."

"Glad you think so." — the Sub-Lieutenant added, ignoring her flirting — "Still, getting back on track..."

"Don't hold your breath, Mr. Hero. Much as I would love to trade a kiss in return, all of the equipment we have in store here was graciously provided by the Americans. Straight from the US Marines. Aren't they nice?" — it explained were the uniforms came from. Those guys aren't stupid enough to actually use the blueberry camo — "So… no G3 for you, I'm afraid. You'll have to make do with the M16."

"Yeah, I've heard. They're dumping their outdated surplus on us. Most of this stuff is being phased out from their military and shipped directly to their beggared allies." — their country certainly fit the 'beggar' status.

"Gratis at least."

"No such thing as a free lunch, Sergeant. I sincerely doubt that any this doesn't have any strings attached." — one should always mistrust the honesty in others' generosity, politicians' especially — "If anything, I think they're just making sure their bullet sponges are well-armed."

"And we should be thankful for that." — she countered — "Given the budget we had, if it weren't for them, we'd soon be breaking out pieces from the Colonial War."

"That's a bit much."

"Says the man who wants a grandpa rifle."

"I want quality and reliability." — Gil clarified his preference — "In Vietnam, they used to ditch these M16s for AKs with good reason."

"Those were the early models, and those soldiers weren't instructed with proper maintenance discipline." — to have his justification thrown back at him by the more gun-educated Sergeant — "Why so adamant about this anyway?"

"Familiarity. I'm more used to the G3, so I would rather stick with something I'm already well acclimated with, seeing that the battlefield were are heading into is foreign as it is." — he further expounded — "That, and I never really trusted the standards of anything 'Made in USA'. If it ain't German or Japanese, I ain't putting my faith in it."

"Well… can't do anything about that, soldier." — her lean figure shrugged — "Adapt or perish, as they say."

"Guess, I'll have to, won't I? Thanks for everything, Sergeant. See you soon on the other side." — Gil waved his goodbyes, making for the armory's exit with his encumbering baggage in tow.

" _Até breve_ , Mr. Hero."

With just a few hours left till they were to present themselves for boarding, it was pointless to find a bunk, so Gil was stuck sauntering through the base whilst having to haul his gear and luggage around. It was hard to imagine that a month ago the whole island was just deserted shrubland, now morphed into an overpopulated hive of human hubbub, much to the dismay of several environmental associations. Designated staging ground for CARAVEL, seeing that the smaller islands near the Gate were fully occupied by security and scientific personnel, Selvagem Grande now housed its initial ground contingent and its logistic structure, rounding about half a dozen thousand individuals. A thick multinational jungle of prefab barracks and warehouses, its horizon dominated by the constant sight of steel grey ships and passing aircraft.

Fellow marines and off-duty Navy staff, from every nation that had gotten themselves involved with the Task Force, were enjoying their last moments of R&R before departure. A large portion did so by congregating around improvised football fields, either taking turns playing ball or cheering those that were. All in all, too few seemed anxious about the upcoming voyage they were to embark on. It was always good to see that spirits were high, the (contrasting) grouch supposed, but he felt the overall mood to be too light on the cusp of a major military operation, likely a part of a much longer conflict. There was a very thin line between leisure and laxity.

Nevertheless, God was feeling generous that afternoon it seemed, deciding to lighten his mood by throwing the worrywart soldier a bone.

"Eanes, _meu ganda doido_!" — was all he heard before the skin on his left shoulder was left simmering via an open hand slap — "Starting to think you were going to miss out on the trip."

"Nice to see you too, Cruz." — recovering from the surprise, Gil turned around and greeted back, exchanging a flexing handshake with the familiar face. The grin plastered on his rugged square mug was a welcome sight in the middle of his custom-made torment — "Figures they'd call you to… _seu judeu dum raio_."

1st Lieutenant Isaque Cruz and him had been friends ever since they both attended boot camp, at _Escola de Fuzileiros,_ over a decade ago. Though they rarely got to see each that often, seeing they were both assign to different units, they had been keeping in touch online. Afterall, second to an actual field of battle, no bond was stronger than that forged in the midst of mud, sweat and the constant shouts of a drill instructor calling into question the repute of one's parentage.

"Ah! Me, you, nearly everybody in the Corps is getting involved in this, crazy man! Navy's been busy putting dibs over the fellows in the Army and Air Force. All aboard the caravel, destination… whatever pisshole shat out those nutjobs. Choo-Choo!" — the brute of a blond pulled an invisible cord, sounding off the train whistle.

"I don't recall caravels having steam engines." — he pointed out, biting his tongue to avoid sounding more of a sourpuss by mentioning that a 'pisshole' was technically incapable of defecating.

"Figure of speech, my sullen chap." — his friend cleared up — "As in: get the out of our way, or get run over by the implacable cavalcade of fire-fed steel."

"You've have a knack to make things sound more epic than have any right to be." — Gil reckoned all those religious texts Cruz had to read growing up provided a good source for inspiration.

"Usually I would probably end up agreeing with you… but in this case I don't believe I'm exaggerating. I mean, look at us. A month ago, we were discussing trivial stuff like movies, video games, wrestling, Internet fads, and whatever's the latest weird stuff Japan pulled out its collective ass, planning our summer vacations…" — how the former Corporal wished it was still like that — "Now, there's a whole new world out there to explore! And best of all, _we_ get the distinction to be the ones to adventure into it first! Do our ancestors proud!"

"Yeah. Us, and the rest of the foreigners." — both glanced over a squad of nearby brits, loudly discussing the upcoming World Cup over tea and a game of cards.

"Don't worry about it, man. I know for a fact us _Tugas_ we'll be firsts passing through the Gate later this evening. They ain't stealin' our thunder." — being upstaged really wasn't his main concern.

"First into the fray." — first into bodybags, Gil left to say — "Lovely."

"Lighten up! This is a once in a lifetime… hell, once in History opportunity! Getting a chance to repeat what our forbearers did half a millennium ago. Our fathers, their fathers, and their fathers… think of how many generations before ours would've killed to have the possibility to relive _Os Descobrimentos_ in person." — hopeless as it was to change his stubborn outlook on the matter, his buddy tried nonetheless. That's what a friend was for.

"Jesus, been drinking much of the Kool-Aid too, Cruz? Would explain the jolly mood, yours and the rest." — the whimsical adventure-filled levity with which everyone was taking in everything came off as downright foreboding, at best — "Honestly. Everybody's acting like a bunch of 4th graders going on a field trip, not marching into bloody war."

"Hmpf, some war is going to be. You were at Funchal, Eanes, you got to see those guys in action first hand. Once the cops got their shit together, it was a massacre. Hell, you saw the news from the battle here, where we stand. See those?" — Cruz directed his sight towards some grooves on the stony soil — "That's all that's left of the earthworks their soldiers were digging up, before two special forces platoons wiped them out. A whole regiment of them, clean, dead. I was here during the cleanup, man. Those bastards were butchered like hogs."

"I fail to see how knowing that I can potentially mow down an entire maniple singlehandedly is suppose to make me feel better about the endeavor our esteemed Government volunteered us for." — Gil had certainly got to witness such carnage in the flesh.

He could only imagine the horror going through the invader's heads, as the tear gas burned their eyes and lungs, as the fusillade of a squad of gas-masked policemen mercilessly (and gleefully) fell their comrades by the dozen. Some tried to flee back to their ships, dragging away their bullet-ridden companions. Many begged for mercy in their unintelligible tongue, getting on their knees in an universal sign of submission. Others, out of desperation or wishing for a more dignified end, charged hopelessly against a wall of lead. Lives forfeited, regardless of choice. Restraint became a rare commodity that day. Law enforcement officers turned into street judges, agents of punishment, the deeper they ventured into the desolation the attackers had left in their wake. Summary execution was often the given sentence.

" _Que outro os prenda." (Let some other arrest them.)_

Gil remembered some saying. Hardly anyone did. Hardly anyone cared afterward.

"Nevermind the fact that this time we are the ones who're sailing into the other's home turf, not knowing what to expect when we get to the next side." — in some way, Gil almost felt bad for the anachronistic louts for those same reasons. _Almost…_

"Yes, yes. Hubris begets the fall, and all that. Blah, blah, blah." — Cruz derided in good humor — "Still, given what they've shown so far, I don't think we're going to encounter that much trouble. And even if we were, that's what you and I have been trained for. To be soldiers, _Fuzileiros_ , to overcome whatever odds they throw at us! We've been honing our skill for the past decade or so for these precise moments! Of course most of us are going to be excited!"

"A soldier should be content with living out the rest of his career as a breathing deterrent, not actually pine for a chance to test his capabilities. It's like one of those martial arts mantra: teach these techniques so you may never have to use them." — granted there were always that base temptation was lurking within. He certainly felt it nineteen days ago.

"Twelve years, and still the same pessimistic killjoy you were back at boot camp." — pessimist was what an optimist called a realist, Gil liked to think — "Some _Velho do Restelo_ you turning out to be. Kinda fitting given the place."

"I'm hardly some old fart."

"No, but you certainly have the disposition of one. That's what counts." — his friend retorted — "Keep up with the despondent attitude you'll soon turn into a wrinkled codger anyway. I'm starting to see some gray hairs here and there already."

"You sound like a mother." — he grumbled just as his growling gut rudely asked for the floor — "Urgh. Can we take it to the cantina. Haven't eaten anything since breakfast, and I'm kinda feeling peckish."

"Sure, wouldn't want you to go to warzone with an empty stomach. Be bad for the cameras if our new national hero faints from hunger in the battlefield. For your health too. We'll catch up there." — aware where the mess hall was located, Cruz took the lead — "You ever managed to go to Comic-Con after all the heroism?"

"Nah. I tried, man. Believe me, I tried." — Gil sighed, almost sobbing — "I managed to get off the island by catching one of those emergency flights back to Lisbon, but by then word got out on what I 'did'. As soon as I landed, the brass dragged me off of the plane, passing me around like I was some cool new action figure during recess. Town halls, meeting whatever big dog was interested in me, award ceremonies, memorials to attend, TV interviews to send off. The whole VIP treatment. I swear, someone upstairs must truly hate me."

"I feel ya. It was a tough break. I even heard Martin gave out advanced copies of the new book to all attendants. Autographed and everything. You missed out big time."

"Rub it in some more, why won't you?"

* * *

— _"Dura inquietação d'alma e da vida,_  
 _Fonte de desamparos e adultérios,_  
 _Sagaz consumidora conhecida_  
 _De fazendas, de reinos e de impérios:_  
 _Chamam-te ilustre, chamam-te subida,_  
 _Sendo digna de infames vitupérios;_  
 _Chamam-te Fama e Glória soberana,_  
 _Nomes com quem se o povo néscio engana!_

* * *

"SEN-TI-DO!-!-!"

As the voice of the senior officer boomed throughout the upper deck of the NRP Adamastor, several hundred pairs feet clicked together in perfect synchrony, and an equal multitude of left hands rose to their respective foreheads. The Commodore, in full combat uniform, soon emerged from the NAVPOL's bridge, perusing down from the scaffolds the half a thousand strong contingent of _Fuzileiros_ under his command, standing at attention in the rear helipad. Gil was naturally among them, geared up from head to toe in riot armor grasping the barrel of a M16 ( _grrr_ ) with his free hand. Fortunately, that late afternoon's mild weather and the gentle breeze that ran through the ship as it sailed south made the outfit somewhat more bearable to wear.

"At ease!" — again in unison, the soldiers shifted their stances, this time at their CO's prompt — "Those of you that had the displeasure of meeting me in person know that I'm not much for long winded words and speeches. Quite frankly, I fail to see the need for any. Into each of us _Fuzileiros_ is instill the discipline to give nothing but total commitment to any the mission that may lie ahead. Pep talks are for those whose such conviction is lacking, so expect none from me. Nevertheless, owing to the historic nature of our latest assignment, a few words ought to be said. Luckily, you won't have to hear them from me. Admiral Albuquerque, acting commander for Task Force CARAVEL, wishes to address his sailors, the men and women under his authority. Standby…"

The Commodore and his staff adopted the same waiting posture as the rest of his men, as the entire crew patiently awaited for the announcement. Before long, the ship's speakers crackled and came to life…

" _As armas e os barões assinalados,_  
 _Que da ocidental praia Lusitana,_  
 _Por mares nunca de antes navegados,_  
 _Passaram ainda além da Taprobana,_  
 _Em perigos e guerras esforçados,_  
 _Mais do que prometia a força humana,_  
 _E entre gente remota edificaram_  
 _Novo Reino, que tanto sublimaram;_ "

 _Quoting Camões right from the get-go. This oughta be good._ Gil thought to himself as the Admiral's gruff voice recited the first stanza of the national epic.

"Thus begins _Os Lusíadas_. Words that are to you all well known, I'm sure. Of the poem that so masterfully retells the story of our people, their voyage through the oceans of time, and that of our single greatest contribution towards the betterment of the human race. Of our people's quest for the legendary Path to the Indies, to the sublime Orient. The founding of the first of the great maritime empires. A fantastical narrative, a profound sensationalism some may disparage… but make no mistake. The feats of our forefathers, the greatest undertaking of our nation has ever gone through, were so unthinkable, so unfathomable to the minds of the era, that they could only evoke to memory the great myths of ancient Greece. Of the tales told by the likes of Homer or Virgil. Our navigators, explorers, sailors on par with Ulysses, Jason and Heracles. When they write sorties about the events the coming days, they will seem just as exaggerated to the generations to come as well. We shall make our fantastical their mundane."

" _Marinheiros_! _Heróis do Mar_! _Portugueses_!"

"A momentaneous occasion stands before us all! There, on the horizon towards which we now sail! There, the fortunes of our beloved Fatherland await! There, we shall shape our world's history once more! There, we shall turn legend to reality, fable to truth! Today, on this solemn August day, we, as a people, embark on the most important journey since the _Infante_ left with his host for the War in Ceuta! Today, six centuries after the exalted patron of our beloved Navy, of every ship that flies our flag _invicta_ , launched the nation for the shores of Africa, we stand at the cusp of concretizing a comparable feat! Today, we sail past the Gate, into the unknown once again, as the most illustrious of our ancestors did! To waters where no brave soul has yet dared to thread! At long last!"

"Times may have changed since, our station in the world stage may be different that it was before, but it matters not. Providence has dictated that the task would fall unto us, first and foremost. A doorway on the very edge of our country's borders, that we are tasked with to cross. Trusted to be the old world's audacious vanguard, as we once were, as the _Fados_ foretold, as our heritage impels us. An endeavor we have the utmost honor to emulate. On the other side of that threshold… therein lies _our_ Orient. A land never trekked, of folk never met. Yet, as with all of Man, violence is no stranger to them."

"They arrived at our shore not an olive branch and an open hand, but with blades and a closed fist. As invaders. Great conquerors they herald themselves when they landed in Funchal, when they shed the blood of our fellow compatriots and those enjoying our hospitality. On the 19th of July 2022, we bore witness to an act of wanton barbarism, an atrocity the likes of which we thought it would be forever distant from our nation's memory. Marauding, robbing our home from its substance. Desecrating, smearing its soil red. Slaughtering, massacring the innocent that inhabit it. Savages, in equal parts beast to the monstrosities their accomplices. Never forget! Do not ever consent a moment of respite from your memory! Always carry the remembrance of their vile crime throughout your journey!"

"For you, each man and woman aboard these ships, are the righteous sword that will bring justice to those they wronged. We cross the Gate, we take this journey, not as harbingers of conquest, but as the righteous castigation that is to befall the ringleaders behind such depravity. Torchbearers that shall bring forth, that shall shine the light of civilization's law upon them, forcing them to gaze it if needed be. A culture so evidently governed by the laws of the jungle, _Vae victis_. Assured that in their might lies the vindication to prey on those weaker. Such attitude deserves nothing but our contempt and, ultimately, our enlightenment. So steel your minds and gather your strength, for the task ahead will be undoubtedly an arduous one."

"Because there's no greater danger than that which we know nothing of. Think of the daunting seas of yore, the capes insuperable, the lands strange and the denizens mystifying. At our present, they stand as our gentle seas, the capes navigated, the lands familiar and the denizens well met. The lingering fear behind those concepts… defeated, subdued. It is to us, the pioneers, that falls the burden to lay down the road for those, in generations to come, to safely transverse. Carved and paved with the blood, sweat and tears of our toil, an inextinguishable mark we shall leave upon the trail, forever travelled. The symbol , the name we carry near our hearts as a badge of honor."

"CARAVEL."

"We've taken for ourselves the name of the vessel that carried our exalted forerunners beyond the boundaries of their earthly perception. Sailors and ships. Man and machine. Flesh and steel. We are the engine that expands the world. And it is in that endeavor that we'll build the cornerstone of our lasting legacy anew. Where each and every one of our names will be recorded in annals of History, ours and theirs. As many was the blood spilled over sea, that of the daring, as many were the tears cried over land, those of their beloved, and as many were the sacrifices and hardships suffered in centuries past, so too we shall surmount them. So too is our duty, for our people, the Lusitanian race, and for the nation they've built, our grandiose Fatherland. So too is our right, after Greece, after Rome, after Christ, after Europe, to lay the foundations for the new era, the fifth, molding it after our image."

"For on the 19th of July, in the year of our Lord 2022… through the morning's fog, journeying from an island faraway atop a white horse, the _Encoberto_ has finally revealed himself to us! Crying out, at last!"

" _Ergue-te! Ergue-te de novo, Portugal!_ "

 _Wow…_

Pretty much summed up Gil's reaction, a silent incredulity after having to endure through the totality of that overblown sermon.

 _Wow, this guy didn't just drink the Kool-Aid. He outright replaced the blood in his veins for the stuff._

It was no wonder then that the punch-maker general that was their President handpicked the man for the position. His overly patriotic jive had certainly got the spirits rousing however, much to his consternation. Some of his fellow brothers-in-arms were even stoically crying. Part of him wish it was due to the cringe, but he doubted it. After the Admiral was finished, the opening fanfare of the national anthem started blaring, prompting every soul aboard to carry their hand to their chest, Gil included. Despite his patent distaste for the nationalistic rhetoric the mission was being imbued with, he was not completely estranged towards all notions of patriotism. An anthem happen to be just the right amount for him and, if nothing else, it was still a good song in his opinion.

 _Heróis do mar, nobre povo,_ _  
_ _Nação valente, imortal,_ _  
_ _Levantai hoje de novo_ _  
_ _O esplendor de Portugal!_

Every soul aboard chanted with fervor, their cries carried by the crashing waves.

 _Entre as brumas da memória,_ _  
_ _Ó Pátria, sente-se a voz_ _  
_ _Dos teus egrégios avós,_ _  
_ _Que há-de guiar-te à vitória!_

Toning down for the more solemn verses.

 _Às armas, às armas!_ _  
_ _Sobre a terra, sobre o mar,_

Exploding again for the crescent chorus.

 _Às armas, às armas!_ _  
_ _Pela Pátria lutar!_

The air resonated with cries of war.

 _Contra os canhões, marchar, marchar!_

Ending with a climatic call to march forward, to charge against the cannons...

 _Uh?_

…or at least with would've, hadn't the song kept playing pass it, much to everyone's confusion. Gil was quick to realize that some moron had decided it was would be a great idea to play the whole damn song, past the first stanza and chorus. He figured this was to hype up the patriotic flair even higher, and pass the time while the armada was still far from the Gate. Problem was, nobody knew the lyrics past what was typically sang during the official anthem, so a bunch of soldiers and sailors were left awkwardly opening and closing their mouths like a school of fish for the next two minutes, humming garbled nonsense in lieu of words. The only part anyone managed to sing was the chorus, because of the familiar melody, and even that was off-key.

 _They just HAD to ruin this too. Please, don't let anyone be filming this misery._

As the pitiful show came to its merciful conclusion, familiar klaxons began to ring, signaling that the ship was entering combat operations. While most _Fuzileiros_ headed below deck to the awaiting amphibian transports, Gil stayed above the hull, having been assigned to one of the airlifted teams. Seated by the edge of one of the helicopters' passenger cabin, preemptively starting their engines, he had a first class view of the looming the giant orange dome, growing larger by the minute. It was not long before he noticed its frontage splitting in half and opening sideways, not unlike the maw of a gigantic sea abomination about to swallow an entire fleet whole, to reveal the Greek-like temple within. Though Gil had seen the pictures, having the real deal up drifting ever closer tied his stomach into an increasingly tighter knot. The utter bizarreness and otherworldliness of it all did not bode well, and the setting sun only served to further punctuate the ominous dread perspiring onto his skin.

First in queue to pass through the portal were the frigates NRP Bartolomeu Dias, NRP Vasco da Gama and the NRP Alvares Cabral, because, even in the order of battle, the heads of the Navy felt the need to make historic allusions. The Adamastor came next in the lengthy linear formation, followed by the rest of the Portuguese naval vessels, with the other nations' tailing shortly behind them. Cruz had been right. The brass had pull all the stops to make sure their nation would be the one to claim bragging rights as the first into battle, first to step into the unknown land beyond. With the three front ships melting into the black void, the time came for the ominous structure devour its next victim, their ship, much like a whale would gulp down a small paddle boat. On the suspended walkways covering inner surface of the dome, Gil could spot the surveillance personnel, responsible for monitoring the exotic portal, cheering them onward, as a wall of darkness gradually enveloped them.

The interior of the Gate could be described with two words: windy and trippy. The former was self-explanatory: it was like standing inside a damn air tunnel. The latter was much, much harder to convey into proper words. Perhaps fittingly, the whole ambient around him was reminiscent of the star-gate sequence from 2001: A Space Odyssey to the mesmerized officer. Through the slow spinning chopper rotors, a passing miscellany of vivid colors on the empty ceiling above, on the walls to the side, reflecting on the turbulent waters below, with the swooshing drone of the engines providing the eerie wails. An universe, a reality too immense and unfathomable for the feeble human mind to muster a comprehensive understanding of.

And then, just like that, it all ended… with a blink… and him staring at the foreign stars above.

So entranced was he by the alien sky, that Gil barely noticed the Lynx he was hanging onto taking off, nor the flashes and blasts rocking in the background.

* * *

— _"A que novos desastres determinas_  
 _De levar estes reinos e esta gente?_  
 _Que perigos, que mortes lhe destinas_  
 _Debaixo dalgum nome preminente?_  
 _Que promessas de reinos, e de minas_  
 _D'ouro, que lhe farás tão facilmente?_  
 _Que famas lhe prometerás? que histórias?_  
 _Que triunfos, que palmas, que vitórias?_

* * *

 **GATE — …and gave new worlds to the World.**

* * *

:

:

:

Guess it won't be a sole child afterall…

Anyway… meet our 'tragic' hero, not-Itami.

Like I said, the general premise of the story is more of a scenario-centric AU retelling of GATE than simply different protagonists and a different starting location. Gil is basically what Itami would be like if he was born on the other side of the world, or at least that's what I'm trying to portray. Nevertheless, I'll try avoiding making a western carbon-copy of our favorite otaku lieutenant, and the same goes for the rest of the cast. Different circumstances, even if only geographical, can shape a person character in a multitude of different ways. So expect more not-X characters showing up in the future. I can say for now that the changes will be more pronounced with the Gate-worlders, as we'll get a glimpse in the next chapter.

The title _Velho do Restelo_ (Old Man of Restelo) is a reference to _Os Lusíadas_ (The Lusiads), Portugal's national epic by Luis Vaz de Camões. Like the Admiral mentioned in his long speech, the whole thing is basically a fantasy retelling of the country's history up to the 15th century (when it was written) that included many references to Greek mythology, in the same style of narrative as the Iliad or the Odyssey. Part of the inspiration for this take on Gate comes from those elements, so be fully prepared for more allusions (in-universe or otherwise).

The titular Old Man was the personification of the pessimists, those who equated the voyages of discovery to a doomed enterprise undertaken by reckless glory hounds and driven by greed for riches, that would only bring ruin for the country. He appears as Vasco de Gama (the epic's protagonist) and co are about to leave to India, calling into question the validity of his historic voyage in the grand scheme of things. Basically, that archetypical grumpy old fart you see in every movie/TV show, always complaining about whatever those 'dang-darn youngsters' are up to this time around. The intermitting stanzas were taken from that part of the poem.

I could bore you with more details about the poem, not to mention the ideas of Sebastianism and the Fifth Empire, but I feel that, if any of this interests you, its best you go check out the information yourself from more detailed sources rather than listening to some amateur author on FF. Also, seeing I'm apparently continuing this story, I'll be posting the next chapter status on my profile, so check that out if you want to know. Again, not go expecting an update any time soon, seeing that I'm about to attend a work academy that will eat up most of my free time and I want to go back to write my other main fic for the time.

As always, leave a review and/or send me a PM if you liked the story so far or want to share your opinions and criticisms.

Many thanks.


	3. Consílio dos Deuses

**GATE — Thus, the CARAVEL sailed into uncharted waters…**

* * *

 _Quando os Deuses no Olimpo luminoso,_  
 _Onde o governo está da humana gente,_  
 _Se ajuntam em concílio glorioso_  
 _Sobre as cousas futuras do Oriente._  
 _Pisando o cristalino Céu formoso,_  
 _Vêm pela Via-Láctea juntamente,_  
 _Convocados da parte do Tonante,_  
 _Pelo neto gentil do velho Atlante._

* * *

 _On the Noumenia of Boedromion, at the 447th revolution of the seasons since the Exalted Acclamation, the Lord-Constituents of the Grand Consortium of the League have assembled at the request of His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger, patrician of the most esteemed House Cai Pi, for the 3856th session of the Consiglio._

 _Subject of discussion pertains to the events that transpired at Alnus Lagoon over the preceding fortnight._ _Acting Megas Navarchos of the Armada Alcideis, of House Al Nida, was to stand before the Consiglio to answer for the charges of sedition and dereliction of duty levied against him. Archon Diobachus proceeded with the questioning._

 _Minute written by Nikho, humble scribe in service of the Quarantia._

(…)

— **49** **—**

— _Megas Navarchos Alcideis_ —

Esteemed Archon, my Lord-Constituents _,_ you have to comprehend, I had no other choice but to…

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

But to utterly dishonor the rank you came to bear?

— _Megas Navarchos Alcideis_ _—_

I… I…

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Let it be behold by the Lord-Constituents of the Consortium… Al Nida Alcideis… Megas Navarchos of our illustrious Armada, undisputed master of the Great Circle ever since the Acclamation. An honor all men-at-sea aspire to one day attain. Now… a but title soiled by the stench of cowardice, the reek of a feeble mind.

— _Megas Navarchos Alcideis_ _—_

A honor I never felt worthy of having, that I never expected to be bestowed upon me, Archon. There was never a word back from Micias and Demothes. Eurimedion and Ladochus perished during the initial attack. The whole fleet was left in complete panic, so… so I had to take the initiative upon myself. My contingent was the stationed the farthest away from Alnus, so I rallied as many ships as I could reach…

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

And did you fight back!? Organize a counterattack!? Attempted to retake Alnus' holy waters!? No! You fled! You besmirched the League and its Armada with your craven actions!

— _Megas Navarchos Alcideis_ _—_

Forgiveness Archon, but there was no other choice! We could not fight back… we could not win, not against such potent magic. Not against the grey ships and the wingless beasts.

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

You speak of choice, Megas Navarchos. Yet, was obliging by the sacred oaths of the Armada not an option? Do what any men-at-sea worth their salt should've done? To never falter before the enemies of the League. To render either theirs or his own lifeless flesh unto Her Depths' embrace. To never leave her wanting. Have you forgotten those pledges… or are notions such as honor and duty alien to you, Megas Navarchos?

— _Megas Navarchos Alcideis_ _—_

…

— **50** **—**

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

No. The truth is bare for everyone to see. You simply thought higher of your pathetic life, that it was of more worth keeping than any obligation to your betters. A weak mind, not insomuch different to the un-freed that grovel beneath the boots of kings and barbarians. One that places his selfish self before the whole of the League. What say the Lord-Constituents?

 _The left side of the tribune erupts in an assenting chorus, while the other remains mostly silent._

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Megas Navarchos Al Nida Alcideis. It is the ruling of the Consiglio that you be striped of rank and title, your name forever damned in the annals of the League. A debt of servitude is to be incurred by you and your weak-blooded kin, equal in length to the years of its History that you've disgraced with your conduct. So it has been decreed.

— _Megas Navarchos Alcideis_ _—_

I plead before this Consiglio for clemency! If not for me, then for my family! They do not deserve to suffer for what I've done! Please, I beseech you…!

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Enough! Judgment as been passed already! Marshall! Remove this wretched degenerate out of the Lord-Constituents' sight!

[ _The Marshall and several of the Palace's Guard forcibly drag the disgraced Megas Navarchos from the assembly chamber, while he continues to thrash and scream for mercy. Archon Diobachus returns to his seat._ ]

— _Proedros Aremar_ _—_

The Consiglio is hereby open for debate.

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

Am I to trust that Archon Diobachus' thirst for wanton reckoning has been quenched?

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

You believe the past sentence unreasonable, Archon Aphronus?

— **51** **—**

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

I believe it the act of those so helpless before the real threat that they would exact retribution upon one inferior. A scolded child beating his pet as to vent his frustration. It is the fury of men that cannot come to terms with their own mistakes, that they would rather cast them all upon someone of little consequence. I ask, my honored peers. Was such sentence truly just? Should that man, a mere Trierarchos trusted upon a much greater role by unexpected circumstances, been subjected to this tantrum masquerading as justice? Was he truly wrong in trying to salvage the situation by withdrawing, to save the lives of his fellow men-at-sea, when the his superiors so clearly failed?

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Such enabling will only encourage more cowardly behavior among the Archos.

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

Passing one's own mistakes unto them will only ensure the fickleness of their oaths. How can we expect loyalty from them, when they cannot expect sound ruling from their betters? Why would the next Megas Navarchos you send to fail return to the Consiglio to accept more biased sentencing, rather than taking up a life of treachery and piracy instead?

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

So certain is Archon Aphronus of our defeat already…

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

With men like you overseeing the Armada, what else can be expected?

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

What does a weak-bellied, glorified farmer know of waging war? Of the sea?

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

I know of widows that'll cry for fallen husbands. I know of mothers that'll grieve for lost sons. I know of children that'll grow without fathers. I know that continuing on this path will lead to nothing but further sorrow. And I know where the blame for this entire debacle truly befalls. Unto those who pressed for such reckless action. Those that, in their infinite wisdom, decided to charge through the Holy Gate once it opened for the first time since the Sundering. Those whose foolish actions incurred the wrath of the Gods.

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

The Gods? Why Archon, I did not take you for a sycophant. To sing so high praises of these invaders.

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

You know well they are not those who I'm referring to.

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

How can I be certain? When your spine bends with the winds.

— **52** **—**

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

Mine at least can stand straight. Can yours?

 _Both sides of the tribune erupt in a flurry unintelligible accusations against one another._

— _Proedros Aremar_ _—_

Order! Order! I'll have order!

[ _The uproar slowly subsides._ ]

— _Proedros Aremar_ _—_

Each Archon will refrain from making personal accusations against other Lord-Constituents, or they'll cede the right to speak to another. Continue.

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Thank you, Proedros. Regardless of my peers opinion on this matter, none should not think of these foreigners as anything but human. They're of flesh and bone, the same as any of us, as the prisoners we've captured are more than proof of. They can be broken, conquered as any.

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

True, Gods they are certainly not. But Archon Diobachus is mistaken to assume they are at all alike us. Or are we then to ignore what happened? Half our Armada disappears through the Gate, never to be heard of again, then these… outsiders appear and destroy the rest! What are we to make of this?

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

I'll concede that they may have been a certain… laxity. So indomitable is our Armada, for so long they savored nothing but victory, that our Archos became too complacent, our men-at-sea too indolent. They were caught off guard…

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

Off guard!? Those that managed to escape the catastrophe tell that none saw few more than a dozen ships. A dozen ships! Arrayed against hundreds of our own… and yet we lost! I can scarcely believe it the product of mere ineptitude! Not even the imbeciles that you and your lot allowed to bribe their way up the Archigia are capable of such tremendous incompetence!

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

How dare you!?

[ _The uproar resumes._ ]

— **53** **—**

— _Proedros Aremar_ _—_

Order! Order! Order I say!

[ _Despite Proedros Aremar's attempts', the commotion only quiets down after a quarter turn of the Micro._ ]

— _Proedros Aremar_ _—_

Archon Aphronus will restrain himself, or he will not only forgo his right to speak but he will be expelled from the Consiglio for the remainder of this session, and those to come!

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

Apologies, Proedros… though my comments hold truth nonetheless!

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Enlighten us then, Archon. He who prances himself as wiser. How are we then to proceed?

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

We should dispatch envoys to Alnus. Free the prisoners as a sign of good faith. I do not believe it's too late to attempt a more diplomatic route with the outsiders. I'm certain they can be reasoned with… and if not, it will allow us to learn more from them at least. I'm sure even Archon Diobachus can see the merit in studying a potential threat from up close.

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

And if they refuse to have word?

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

Then it's up to the Gods, I'm afraid.

[ _Archon Diobachus is about to speak when, without both the announcement of the Telalis nor the authorization of the Proedros, a new claimer storms the Consiglio's chamber loudly demanding the floor._ ]

— _Telalis_ _—_

A-A-Announcing, Navarchos Rinha, of House-!

— _Proedros Aremar_ _—_

What is the meaning of this interruption!?

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

As a member of the Archigia, I hereby invoke my lawful right to speak before this Consiglio!

— **54** **—**

— _Proedros Aremar_ _—_

True as it may be, the law does not give you the right to disturb the proceedings in such brazen manner! There are procedures to follow when wishing to speak before the Lord-Constituents!

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

You speak of procedures, of pointless bureaucracy, while these barbarians pollute the sacred waters of Alnus! I know not why I should waste my time, just so that these men can hold their pointless discussions in peace! When the course of action to take is more should be more than evident!

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

And what would that be, Navarchos?

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

Retake the Gate, and deliver their corpses unto Her Depths for the affront they perpetrated!

[ _A low hubbub runs through the stands, before Archon Diobachus addresses the Navarchos._ ]

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Much as I wish to commend such enthusiasm, how exactly do you propose we achieve that, Navarchos? The near entirety of our Armada was lost at Alnus, and we scarcely have the ships and men to protect our inner trade lanes. It would take at least two whole revolutions before we could build it back up to a credible force.

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

To say nothing of the exorbitant expenses of constructing so many warships over such a short period of time. Or the fact that we'd be exhausting our sources of timber for the at least the next foreseeable decade. Where do you propose we draw the funds and resources for such undertaking?

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Or do you plan to make war with them by your lonesome?

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

Trade barges can be turned into warships, faster and cheaper than the latter can be built. Same goes for their escorts. I submit to the Consiglio that each House is to surrender a quarter of their merchant trade fleet to be repurposed into vessels for the Armada, as well as the crew and weapons to…

— **55** **—**

[ _The audience explodes in unanimous condemnation, drowning out the Navarchos, despite Proedros Aremar 's frantic attempts to quell the Lord-Constituents. It is only when Archon Aphronus and Diobachus join the calls for order that the clamor finally dies down._ ]

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

A quarter? A quarter, you say!? The utter gall of this… girl! They are not toys for you to simply take on a whim!

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

While times do certainly seem… bleak, what you ask for is simply unreasonable! Those ships are instrumental to the prosperity of our Houses! To take them is to deprive us of the very source of our livelihood!

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

I hardly think any of the esteemed Lord-Constituents cannot do without such a meager fraction of their ships. And even if they couldn't, the survival of the League as a whole supersedes that of its parts. Such depends on the will of Our Great Mistress. Will she bless our endeavors when we allow heathens to defile Her most holy site?

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

To tout about the whole of the League… when it is your family that has been at its helm for generations. Ha! Its survival it's your House's survival, let us not pretend otherwise. Do not go speak of sacrifice as if what you demand is for some greater good. I see but a child that knows not of the struggles that men of our trade face each passing day. Who thinks too highly of herself because the Megas Archontes is her…

[ _His Sublime Serenity_ _Megas Archontes_ _Nheger_ _signals Proedros Aremar._ ]

— _Proedros Aremar_ _—_

Silence in the chamber!His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger wishes to address the Consiglio!

[ _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger rises from his seat and moves towards the central podium._ ]

— **56** **—**

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

Thank you, Proedros.

My esteemed Lord-Constituents of the Grand Consortium of the League…

I've heard your counsel, outside and during this Consiglio, and now comes the time to chose which direction we are to navigate towards. These are lamentable circumstances that befall the League, yes. The loss of most of our Armada is a dire blow, one that threatens its very foundations given its pivotal role in safeguarding our sovereignty against those that lurk Her immensity. But, I ask you, didn't our forefathers face worse odds the revolutions after Acclamation? Besieged by those that would kneel before the rights of blood-kings and savages. Those emulating the folly that tore the land ages gone. Many was lost during those dark days, but behold what was gained. Around you, these very halls stand as a symbol of their utmost triumph. Many have sat in those same seats, many more will in the future I am sure.

For that, we must channel that same will, that same freedom of spirit that compelled our ancestors to break the chains of bondage, to overthrown the tyrants that strangled our people with them. We must demonstrate the same willingness to divest ourselves of our prosperity, and even our lives if needed, to guarantee that those ideals can sail onwards through the currents of time. What Navarchos Rinha proposes is sound. We will not send envoys at this time. Not while in a position of weakness. Clamoring for peace now will only make us look frail, desperate before the coming storm. No. We shall not bend so easily before the tide.

It's hereby, by my ruling as Megas Archontes,that I call for every House under the Grand Consortium to endow the Armada with a full quarter of the vessels belonging to their private trade flotillas, so it may be restored to its former might in timely fashion. House Cai Pi, finding itself at the forefront of the League as of this crisis, shall lead the effort through example, providing a not a quarter, but a third of its private vessels instead.

What say the Lord-Constituents?

[ _Several Lord-Constituents rise to their feet, to express their loud acclaim, though the majority remained seated, simply giving gestures of contained approval._ ]

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

So it has been decided.

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

I would request of the Consiglio the honor of overseeing the restoration of the Armada, so I can lead it against the invaders.

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

Does your conceitedness know no bounds? First you compel us into abdicating a significant portion of our personal assets, and now you ask to be granted the title of Megas Navarchos, the highest honor that can be bestowed to one of the Archigia?

— **57** **—**

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

A tall order, no doubt.

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

I know of none else up to the task.

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Says a girl who never once saw battle in her life. Who never once held command over men.

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

Indeed. Let's not pretend that leading a fleet is in any way similar to your little congregation of damsels and whores. Matters of state and war go well beyond the mere fantasy plays of an impudent youth.

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Do not assume that the rank you bear is little more than a formality, a child given indulgence. One that, regrettably, had to come at the expense of the prestige behind the title of Navarchos. Perhaps she ought to be reminded more often of such fact.

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

The circumstances behind my appointment are irrelevant. I received training equal to that of any Archos of my rank, and I can attest that those under my watch are as capable as any crew in the Armada. I ask only to given a chance to attest mine and their valor.

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

That you haven't yet is in of itself an admission that you are not deserving of either laurel.

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

How am I to prove myself if never given the chance!? For five revolutions I've asked countless times for meaningful commission! Each time I was refused!

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

So the fault lies on us? How typical of a child, to blame her elders for her own shortcomings.

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

You…

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

Enough. This petty bickering is unbecoming of the Consiglio. I've decided. Navarchos Rinha will be granted an opportunity to prove herself true to her standing, as she so desires.

— **58** **—**

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

Then am I to lead the Armada to reclaim Alnus?

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

No.

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

No? To whom such charge falls to then!?

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

To no one. Retaking Alnus is not a concern at the present moment.

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

I… I don't understand. The Armada…

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

…will be rebuilt, as was dictated. But not so we can repeat the same mistakes as before. We can ill afford another loss as grave.

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

But taking back its hallowed waters is paramount to keep the Gods' good fortunes upon us! If we do not…

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

It was not so much on the whims of Gods that the League built its fortunes, but the sturdiness of its ships and the bravery of its crews rather. For them to continue, the lanes must remained free from predation, our citizens secured and our enemies cowered by the sight of our sails. That's not to say we will not take steps to expel the invaders from Her domain. The Mistress will be satiated… in due time. I'm certain she can be patient.

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

Then what is my assignment, if not to give battle to the outsiders?

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

Any man-at-sea is well aware that the most treacherous waters are those not yet transverse, not known. The same is true in war. As Archon Aphronus extolled, there is value in obtaining as much knowledge as we can about these foreigners, before we commit to further action. That is your prerogative, Navarchos Rinha. You are tasked with sailing to Alnus, to observe the enemy. To learn of their ways, their tactics, their conduct, their intentions… any information that may be of use to us in the future.

— **59** **—**

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

You're asking me to perform mere reconnaissance? That's…

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

…a most vital stage in any successful campaign, it is common knowledge to all Archos. I trust it is to you too. Or are you unsure of your ability to perform such mission, Navarchos? Of those under your command, perhaps?

— _Navarchos Rinha_ _—_

No. I've full faith in my skill, and those of my subordinates.

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

Then the Lord-Constituents and I eagerly await news of your coming success. May the Mistress deliver you onto safe haven.

[ _Navarchos Rinha salutes the Lord-Constituents and hurriedly leaves the assembly hall._ ]

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

Proedros, please proceed. What is the next subject for this Consiglio to deliberate on?

— _Proedros Aremar_ _—_

It relates to the Peripheral Realms, Megas Archontes.

— _Archon Diobachus_ _—_

Ah yes… yet another catastrophe waiting to fall upon us. Once word reaches the kneelers' shores of the Armada's demise, they'll surely use the opportunity to try and impose their so-called mandated will onto us.

— _Archon Aphronus_ _—_

Rue be the day we acquiesce to the whims of misbegotten despots once more.

— _His Sublime Serenity Megas Archontes Nheger_ _—_

No such time shall come to pass, my esteemed Lord-Constituents. Not if we act swiftly enough. Hearsay may travel quick, yes, but our word will always be faster. Power, more often than not, is but a cast shadow, and as long as ours remains large every order will be fulfilled.

(…)

* * *

 _Prometido lhe está do Fado eterno,_  
 _Cuja alta Lei não pode ser quebrada,_  
 _Que tenham longos tempos o governo_  
 _Do mar, que vê do Sol a roxa entrada._  
 _Nas águas têm passado o duro inverno;_  
 _A gente vem perdida e trabalhada;_  
 _Já parece bem feito que lhe seja_  
 _Mostrada a nova terra, que deseja._

* * *

An endless forest of masts stretched as far as the eyes allowed. An immense sea of greenery, surrounded by a panoply of colorful canvas. In-between these woods, carved and otherwise, its many critters tended to their daily routines, the many sights, noises and smells of their hustle and bustle saturating the whirling air. A deserted island like many others, a dense tropical thicket its sole feature, that had never insomuch saw more than a hundred souls occupying it at any given time, now rivaled many a cities in the Great Circle. A whirlpool of souls occupying the numerous runner galleys, versatile sloops, steadfast frigates, mighty castle ships...

The entire military might of the Periphery had been gathered at this single place, several miles from the holy waters of Alnus. And now, further adding to the panoply, the vessels belonging to King Negusa added their strength and number to the enormous jungle of lumber and sailcloth that was the anchored Combined Fleet. While the League's Armada prided itself in its singular uniformed view, a symbol of its organization and power, the ebon-skinned monarch believed it lacking in elegance. No match for vibrant mishmash of colors and shapes before him.

Judging by the amount of ships already gathered, Negusa deduced he was the last of the outward monarchs to arrive, as was to be expected given that his realm stood the farthest from the Eastern Fringes of the League's territory, where Alnus was located. An entire expanse composed of nothing but an intermittent chain of small islands, with inhabitants few and far between, with only an odd settlement usually sighted in a journey's day. It was perhaps the most perceptible legacy of the Sundering, when the Deep Mistress shattered the masses of old into millions of pieces in her contend with the Scorned Mother.

"Father! Late to the occasion as always! Old age is truly catching up to you!" — as expected, King Boqor was the one that came to greet Negusa once at shore, throwing his arms around his fellow monarch and father-in-law as soon as he stepped off the boat.

"Youth is forever fleeting, Boqor. One is wise not to mock the fate that will befall himself in but a few revolutions." — Negusa quipped back, returning the welcoming embrace in full — "It's a pleasure to see you all the same. Tell, what news from your land? How does my daughter fare these days?"

"Ah, she does fine. A ray of sunshine in a tempest, she always is. The palace healers say she's to expect a second child." — he relayed the joyous news — "About time, I might add. My first keeps on pestering us both for a brother."

"Gods be good… one more mouth to call me Grand Elder." — the other monarch laughed.

"Deference to your elders is a desirable quality to have."

"You won't feel the same way once their children start calling you that as well." — Negusa warned.

"Perhaps… only time can tell." — Boqor playfully dismissed his sage counsel — "Naturally, my family and I will be more than delighted to have you stay at the palace for a visit, as soon as this business is behind us. It's been ages."

"That it has…" — he reminisced, as both men walked into the sprawling encampment — "But one step at a time. There's a war at hand, and such dealings are best the subject of our focus for the moment. I'm the last, I presume."

"Yes. The others have been… 'eagerly' awaiting your arrival. They're expecting you right now." — Boqor nodded towards the large centerpiece pavilion, assembled amid a hive of plain tents.

Men from all corners of the Her expanse busied themselves tending to the camp on land and with restocking the fleet's supplies, gathering fresh water, fruit, algae, and even dry meat if lucky. The foraging had to be expanded to the surrounding islands no doubt, such was the size of the Combined Fleet that stripping the island bare would do little to satiate all of its ships, Negusa posited. The ashore detachment was kept on a rotation so that every men-at-sea had an opportunity to set his feet on land, however brief. Much as The Mistress lorded over their lives, King or deckhand, all were sons of the Mother still.

Two of Boqor's guards stood by the lavish canopy's entrance, swiftly saluting their liege as he and Negusa entered. Soldiers from all of the Periphery's kingdoms surrounded the meeting place, protecting the now eight monarchs gathered inside. Befitting the occupiers, the interior was lavishly decorated with a jumbled miscellany of the most luxurious adornments each ruler had brought from their homeland. Each piece of masterly crafted furniture, fine tapestry, ceremonial metalwork, pristine glassware, and chiseled stone a symbol to mark their stature before their peers. For a lack of walls, a poignant perfume shielded them from the besieging reek that emanated from the camp.

As their realms were in close proximity to one another, sharing a long and (for the most part) harmonious history, Negusa got to convene with his extended family with relative frequency. The others he had met on occasion and, though sparse, no encounter ever failed to leave a lasting impression.

"Ah! At long last! How courteous of you to grace us with your timely presence, Negusa." — Samrat's elevated seat made him the first to stand out among the group, with the golden jewelry and paint covering the olive skin of his mostly naked body, making him all the more striking.

"Apologies, Samrat. The winds in my sails only recently became favorable." — the ebon-skinned king offered as justification for his delay.

"Yet, Boqor managed to arrive ahead of all." — what he lack in jewelry, Padishah made up for in lavish silk and a bushy mustache that, together, covered his entire face save for his bright amber eyes.

"I had the fortune of receiving the League's summoning at a time when my ships had already been gathered prior, Padishah. A timely coincidence merely." — Boqor asserted in his father-in-law's defense.

"Enough of this bickering. None of it matters anymore. Now that Negusa has joined us we can at long last finalize our preparations." — in contrast to the four western lords, the remaining quartet had the lighter skin tone and the sharp pointed eyes typical of those hailing from East Periphery. First of them to speak was the exquisite Vuong, the only women among the eight, though given the ornamented armor she wore many would need to glance more than twice to take notice of it.

"Yes, would you? These meetings bore me to no end." — the 'venerable and dignified' Gun, a babe the last he'd saw him during his coronation and now a child of ten revolutions, added his vernal voice, with a demeanor and temperament befitting a man ten times his age.

Next to him, Hari remained silent as a fog. Donning no crests or heraldry that would distinguish him from the common soldiery, those unaware of his status would only have his commanding presence to clue them in.

"Then… shall we go over our chosen strategy one more time? To enlighten Negusa of it?" — completing the circle was Okimi, a body frail and pale as porcelain, but a mind sharper than a blade to make up for it.

"You made plans already?"

"By request. The League was quite insistent that we act against the invaders swiftly." — Okimi explained to the late arrival.

"Speaking of whom. Do we have word on where their Armada is at? I saw no sails bearing their colors on the voyage here." — an unusual occurrence to be sure.

"According to that hapless Archos they sent as an emissary, the bulk of the Armada is gathered around the islands west of Alnus, similar to us on this end." — _yet scarcely a sign seen._ No fleet the size of the League's Armada could move without leaving a noticeable wake, adding further wind to his suspicion.

"Truly? They look to surround Alnus from two sides I suppose?" — nevertheless, he pushed his doubts to the side for the moment, letting his peers continue.

"Is what would it seem. I can see no other reason to ask us all to gather at this place." — it was a somewhat counterintuitive request still, Padishah and the rest were more than aware, as the former spoke out.

Given the enemy's supposed position, why muster all their forces east of Alnus? Why force the four monarchs of the Western Periphery to circumnavigate their target in a wide arch, thereby further delaying their arrival, when so obviously pressed for time?

"How are we to proceed?" — Negusa inquired, the eight's attention turning then to the ample table at the center of the pavilion, upon which a map of Alnus and the surrounding waters laid open.

Okimi began to review the battle plan.

They would approach Alnus by the East, splitting their forces into three columns: North, Center and South. Padishah and Samrat ships' would comprise the North, while Gun's and Okimi's the South. As they approached the lagoon, both columns would navigate around the outer atoll in a wide sweeping maneuver, rejoining in the West if without issue. Vuong, Hari and Boqor composed the Center. To them befell the task of recapturing the three islands that made up Alnus, as well as the Gate itself, and as such they would navigate directly into the lagoon. The trio, the group was in concordance, was the most qualified to command the ground contingent onto land.

Much of what happened next was predicated on the enemy's position.

The League had ensured prior that they would try to draw the bulk of the enemy's forces away from Alnus, ensuring that the Combined Fleet could retake it without a pitched confrontation at sea. Should their diversion fail, and battle was to be had in or around the lagoon, a different course of action would be taken. Whichever column ran into the opposing main force would strive to pin them in place while the remainder continued to circle around it, allowing them to then converge onto the invaders from behind. Anvil and hammer.

A simple enough strategy, yet…

"Your plans fails to include me, I see." — Negusa commented, as Okimi finished explaining the main details of the operation.

"Pardon, Negusa. Seeing as you were absent up until now, I had to prepare them without you in mind. I hope you can forgive me for the indiscretion." — ever cordial, Okimi apologized.

"Nothing to forgive Okimi." — he reciprocated — "Though I still must ask what role am I to fulfill."

"For my lack of forethought, your forces will form our rearguard and reserve. You will remain East of the lagoon and reinforce any of the main columns, should it be required." — his peer proposed.

"A pity, Negusa. You're going to miss out on all the glory."

"I can stand without, Vuong." — he had seen enough revolutions to have his fill — "But…"

"Does the role not suit you, Negusa?"

"No, Okimi, that's not it. Everything just feels… too hasty in its execution." — foolhardy even, he left to say.

"Too hasty?"

"Yes, why commit the entirety of our forces at once like this? Wouldn't be wiser to probe the enemy forces first, to assess their capabilities? Perhaps send our forces in waves to maintain a certain degree of tactical flexibility?" — the monarch argued.

"We were warned that, while few in number, the vessels the invaders possess are powerful enough to match several of our own. If true, overwhelming force is best employed to assure fewer losses of our own." — Boqor explained in Okimi's place — "Quite a few of the League's ships were sunk in a previous attempt by the Megas Navarchos, before he called off the attack and retreated in good order."

"Just how powerful can they be, that the League would request our aid?"

"I don't imagine they need our help exactly." — Samrat spoke in turn — "They don't want to lose more of their own ships, that's all. Rebuilding and repairing is costly, and you know how those leeches cling to coin."

"The League's using us as fodder." — Padishah added, in joyous resignation — "They speak of providing a diversion, but I would bet my throne the enemy will be waiting for us in Alnus."

 _Greedy as they may be, their pride is greater… and to even admit to a failure is unlike them._

From their vague summoning several fortnights prior, to having them plan around the word of a glorified messenger, the League's obstinate ambiguity on the issue was an endless source of apprehension for Negusa.

"And _what_ of the enemy? How do we not know what their current disposition is? What did the scouts report back?"

"We haven't sent any." — Okimi admitted in a remorseful tone.

"What…?" — knowing full well the inanity of what he had just said — "Why haven't you!?"

"Another of the League's 'suggestions'." — this time, it was an irritated Gun that interceded — "From the hand of the newly promoted Megas Navarchos himself. Al Nida Alcideis, whoever he is. He argues that sending scouts ahead of the attack would give away our strategy."

"It's utter madness! They want us to sail into battle sightless!?"

"What of it? Between our Combined Fleet and the League's Armada, there's not an enemy in these seas that can possibly stand against us." — the diminutive monarch boasted, failing to grasp that their foe did not belong to the world they knew.

"I concur." — Vuong advocated, with Hari nodding too — "Besides, granting this advantage to the invaders will make the coming battle, and the coming triumph, all the more satisfying. Be a rotten victory if we were to best them with ease."

"Tonight will no doubt be an interesting one." — Boqor remarked offhand.

"Tonight? Tonight…" — the preposterousness of which Negusa's mind had to spell out to fully sink in — "We're to move against the invaders at Alnus in the literal dark as well!?"

"Yet another insistence of the League, as to catch the invaders by surprise. You arrival was most timely indeed, Negusa. If all goes well, you get to sail home within the day." — noticing his apprehension, Okimi tried to soothe his worries.

"Where is this Archos!? I wish to have word with him myself!" — he, of course, did not share his fellow monarch's contained optimism.

"Gone as soon as he was done relaying the Megas Navarchos' message, legs shaking and belly tightening." — Samrat revealed, a hint of disgust in his voice — "Is as if he barely saw a day at sea."

"Don't be disappointed, Negusa." — Gun preempted him — "Even if he was still within reach, he wouldn't tell you much. He was under strict orders from the Megas Navarchos to transmit his message, and _only_ his message. Nothing more. All our inquires fell into dullard silence."

"This is…"

It was nothing new, in truth. The League had long come to regard the people of the Periphery as a small step above uncivilized louts. Simple barbarians still clinging to the days prior to the Sundering, to be used and disposed of as it suited them. Such, they believed, was their right as those most favored by the Mistress.

Yet… this went well beyond the League's characteristic derision of the 'blood-kneelers'. It was as if they were purposefully steering them towards failure, a menace to which Negusa's peers were made oblivious by a dangerous sense of apathy borne out of this long-storied disdain.

Needing a breather to alleviate his growing headache, and to escape the stank of incense that permeated the pavilion, the King excused himself from the meeting, justifying that he needed to tend to his men. The pretext itself wasn't false, as he had to pass on orders to his officers concerning the forthcoming night. Weary after a long arduous voyage across halfway the world, news of the impeding battle came about as savory as chewing lime salt to the men under his sails, even if going by Okimi's plan they were only to serve as the Combine Fleet's reserve force.

Not that Negusa could censure them, when nothing but ill-tidings helmed their journey since leaving port.

"It troubles you still?"

"Of course it does!" — Negusa snapped at the approaching voice — "And with good reason, it should be known to you too! None of this is normal, Boqor!"

"Such are the times we live in, Father." — his son-in-law tried to rationalize, joining him as he perused over some documents — "To see the Gate open once again, after these bygone eras. Imagine how different must it be over on the other side…"

"That is precisely what perturbs me. Just _how_ different is it? We know next to nothing of those who occupied Alnus. Who are they, what their intentions are." — whose wrath they were about to incur, the king kept contemplating — "And now the League coerces us to fight them in their stead. Where their own ships failed. Blind, in both senses of the word."

"The Megas Navarchos was careless, by his own admission. He underestimated the invaders and charged in carelessly, without much plan." — though attempting to be heartening, Boqor's voice betrayed his own lack of assurance — "I comprehend your frustrations, Father. I'm not pleased by any of this either. None does. But what choice we have? If not the invaders', it would be the League's ships on our shores we would have to confront."

"I know, Boqor…" — Negusa turned his head skywards, looking to cool his nerves by gazing at the endless void above — "I…"

When he caught something amiss.

"Is everything alright?" — Boqor questioned as the other monarch's sight became transfixed for far too long — "Father?"

"What is that?"

"What is…?" — following his squinting gaze, the younger lord soon spotted a faint silhouette roaming between the clouds — "A bird?"

"Perhaps…" — inquisitive, he unsheathed his peering glass, a family relic from the times of the League's Acclamation, bringing it to his eye.

But even through the magnifying tube, the ostensible bird was still too distant to be wholly discernible.

"It's a seagull in all likelihood. Why waste time looking at it?"

Yet, Negusa could still notice that something was amiss with its grayish shape and, after observing it for some time, he did not once see it flap its wings.

 _It's not a scout… not like ours at least._

"Soldier!" — lowering the looking glass, he turned to one of his men that happened to pass by.

"My King." — he swiftly saluted — "What is your bidding?"

"Find the Keeper of the Aliantes, and bring him to me." — the monarch commanded.

"At once, your majesty." — saluting once more, the soldier left towards the moored ships at a hurried pace.

"Your honor Volare?" — Boqor was quick to figure out his father-in-law's intentions — "Father, the League instructed us-"

"No, not us. You and the others, yes… but not me. Not in person." — Negusa pointed out — "I shall say I sent a flier on reconnaissance before I came to port. Though I have faith in Okimi's strategic acumen, there's more I need to know before we set sail tonight."

"It's risky still. What if the invaders get wise of our plans, like the League warned?"

"Something tells me, Boqor, that they already are..."

* * *

 _Estas palavras Júpiter dizia,_  
 _Quando os Deuses por ordem respondendo,_  
 _Na sentença um do outro diferia,_  
 _Razões diversas dando e recebendo._  
 _O padre Baco ali não consentia_  
 _No que Júpiter disse, conhecendo_  
 _Que esquecerão seus feitos no Oriente,_  
 _Se lá passar a Lusitana gente._

* * *

"Hey…"

 ** _*bang*_**

 ** _*bang*_**

"Hey…"

Unrelenting as the rocking waves, a prodding sound kept gnawing at the edges of his mind, slowly but surely dragging him out of the depths. Asa could not yet answer it though, much as wanted to, much as he wanted it to shut up. His was a consciousness without a body to call its own, as if his soul was meandering Her depths already. Yet…

 ** _*bang*_**

 _Not dead._

 ** _*bang*_**

That much he managed to conclude, the first coherent thought to escape the black void. The second came soon after, as more familiar sensations began to return one by one, each accompanied by a dull soreness. An avowal on how much he desired to go back to sleep. How every fiber of his being cried for the sweet lull of slumber…

 ** _*bang*_**

"Hey… Hey…"

Only to be denied of such simple pleasure by that incessant cacophony, intent on not letting him rest until answered.

"Finally awake?" — the voice cheered as Asa exposed his eyes to the harsh light around him.

"I…" — disoriented and numb still, his answer came by instinct — "…where am…? My King…?"

"You kneelers are always eager to grovel before another, aren't you?" — the nonchalant voice mocked — "No, I'm not your blood-liege. Just a fellow prisoner, I'm afraid."

"Prisoner…?"

The word imbued Asa with a sense of alarm, dispelling a good deal of his sluggishness. Though his body was adamant on remaining limp upon the soft surface it lied, he mustered enough strength to sit up, turning his head at the source of the voice. He saw a boy, no more than fourteen revolutions old, draped in striking orange looking over him with an unmistakable gaze of inquisitiveness, a few feet away.

As his vision became accustomed to the ambient brightness, he started to notice several incongruities. Namely, the smudges covering the onlooker's hands and forearms coupled with his posture, that would have him fall over if not leaned on something. It was when he saw his own faint reflection superimposed over the young man's image that he realized that said 'something' was a wall of transparent glass, standing between the two.

 _From all sides._ A quick glance around revealed. _A prison._

Asa was quick to recognize the circumstances he found himself in, tentatively tapping the section of the partition within arm's reach which produced the same annoying sound that had wake him. Besides the occupants, the only other features inside the confined space were the ample cushion he was resting on, and a strange grey cylinder sticking out of the ground. The rest was but a void of immaculate grey brighten by white lights that shone above their heads, the uncanniness of which was further punctuated by a pungent, sterile odor.

"Hey, hey, don't go ignore me now that you finally woke up, will you!?" — the young man protested, banging the divide once more to get his attention — "You with the Volare, right? Though you don't belong to the Armada…"

"No…" — Asa shook his head, trying to fight off the lingering dizziness — "I'm… I'm sworn to King Negusa."

"Hmpf… Figured you for a kneeler the moment they brought you in." — he sneered, his adolescent countenance contorting into a sly grin.

Despite lacking the gaudy uniform, it was ever more evident by the condescending tone of voice and general demeanor that his fellow prisoner was an officer. A novice of the League's Archigia in all likelihood.

"If you're one of that blood-king's serfs, this means his and the other Peripheral Realms were called too, right? To fight the outsiders."

"The outsiders…?" — bit by bit, his memory began to piece itself together — "The invaders... A-Are they the ones-!?"

"Who captured us? Indeed they were." — the presumable Archos interjected, rubbing his already untidy blond hair.

"What happened? Where am I? How… How did I get here?" — he asked himself out-loud, noticing now he was wearing the same orange clothing as his fellow captive.

"Alnus. The outsiders' camp to be more precise. I reckon they brought you in less than half a day ago." — he informed — "As to how… well, I've been stuck in this damn place longer than you have. So… how about _you_ tell me why we've ended up having this conversation, kneeler?"

"I…" — Asa shook his head.

"Come on now." — he insisted, as if addressing an uncooperative child — "Start from the top, retrace your steps, that should help jolt your memory. Why where you sent here in the first place?"

Asa remembered being summoned before King Negusa, shortly after linking up with the rest of the Peripheral Realms. His liege tasked him with flying over Alnus, to scout out the enemy in preparation for that ( _is it still the same day?_ ) night's attack, and then try to find any clue about the whereabouts of the Armada. As to mask where the Combined Fleet was moored, Asa had first arched South then approaching the lagoon from the West, rather than simply flying straight from the East.

"Only to be shot you down with that whizzing magic of theirs, I imagine?"

Was it magic? His memories past his departure were such a disjointed collection of sensations, so much so that he was inclined to believe his words.

Spotting Alnus from up above in the clouds…

A sudden streaking buzz ringing in his ears…

His Aliante shrieking in pain as it plummeted to the ground…

His soaring panic as he tried to steer the wounded mount…

The entire world spinning as Her expanse grew ever larger…

Afterwards… all black.

"I see. Well, I haven't heard any commotion from the outside, nor did they bring in more prisoners, so it figures their attack is yet to happen. Here's to their success..." — the Archos proclaimed with pompous gesturing after Asa concluded — "Though I highly doubt it. Mistress knows I would like to get out of here, but if the entirety of the Armada failed, I cannot see your backward lot faring any better."

"The entire Armada?" — that couldn't be right — "I was told Megas Navarchos Alcideis only lead a small detachment of ships to attack Alnus."

"Why, in our Mother's misbegotten name, would the Megas Navarchos be personally leading a 'small detachment of ships'!? Rather than, you know, delegating it to a Navarchos, to whom such task would befall!? And, Alcideis!? Since when is that barnacle's ass of a Trierarchos in charge!?" — the junior Archos fumed — "Also, _we_ were the ones attacked at Alnus, not the other way around."

"…what?"

"Ignorant to that too? Eh… I should've known." — he shook his head in resignation — "Most of the Armada was once moored here. As soon as the Gate opened, Megas Navarchos Micias and Ypon Navarchos Demothes sailed half of it through to the other side. Everything went well for the first couple of days. Daily reports came from their side, and one time even captives were sent. I happen upon a chance to see them up close, in their weird clothes, roughen up and scared out of their wits, before they were shipped back to the capital. The main heads were hoping to fetch a good price for the exotic slaves I bet… before the market became saturated."

"And then…?"

"It stopped." — he shrugged his shoulders.

"It just… stopped?"

"We don't know what happened! I reckon they're all dead, given what the outsiders did to us on this side!" — the young man's eyes sunk to the floor as he vented — "Those closest to the Gate that one night said they heard thunder in the distance. Echoes of death, reverberations in the water. After that… silence. Nay a word came from the Gate after that, and each messenger we sent never returned either."

"That's when the invaders came through..." — Asa remarked.

"If you are hoping for a detailed account on my end, forget it. Can't tell you much in any case. I was asleep at the time."

The Archos turned his face away, lost in bitter reminiscence.

"Woke up in a daze, ears ringing with the sound of thunder and men screaming, the ship rocking back and forth like a tumbling cradle. I recall catching glimpses of fireballs consuming the moored fleet in the lagoon, wingless beasts flying overhead spewing bright streaks from front and side, the grey ships… the embers dancing on their metallic skin. It all feels like a dream to be honest. Gone by so fast, so vivid when you live it, but a blur ever after."

He paused, patently desponded by the recollection.

"Luckily for me, my ship was stationed quite some distance away from the Gate, reason it and I survived that night. That and our Trierarchos turning tail from Alnus as fast as his sails allowed. Started talking big about becoming a pirate, that the League was finished and its riches were within grasp… right before a wild gale threw us against some rocks. Those of us who survived the wreck were stuck on an islet for two whole fortnights. The Mistress can be such a pitiless bitch."

"Then you were captured by the invaders."

"If you weren't stupid enough to resist at least. The ones you see around are those blessed in both luck and brains." — including his neighbor, Asa counted thirteen individuals by perusing the surrounding cells, out of a typical ship crew of two hundred.

"What of other prisoners? These cells had to been fuller." — with the entire Armada stationed there, it was hard to believe the invaders hadn't managed to capture more men.

"Taken to the other side? Your guess is as good as mine, kneeler. If your liege fails to free us, I'd wager that's where we'll be heading soon." — but a certainty, judging by his manner of speech — "Though to be honest, it hasn't been quite as bad as I thought. Heck, the bed here is better than anything the Armada ever provided me, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, it's… certainly comfortable." — Asa concurred as the fluffy surface rebounded slightly under his bouncing weight — "Yet... such good quality materiel… why waste it for a prisoner's sake? Even all this glass seems too lavish for us."

"Who knows…?" — the Archos brushed-off his concern — "Who cares, really? Aside from their odd obsession with frisking our bodies with their strange instruments, I don't have much reason to complain either way. So I won't. Enjoy it while it lasts, I say."

Much as he wished to, Asa could not afford to relax.

Not when the lives of his King and his compatriots were hanging in the balance. He was duty-bound to try and find some opening, some way to escape and warn the Combined Fleet of the League's deceitfulness. Yet, the more he scrutinized every painstakingly detail of his prison, the clearer his mind got, the more the futility of such prospect sank in.

Inescapable, as the stigma of failure that was to be his.

"I did notice something interesting about the invaders, though. If you happen to be curious…"

"What is it?" — drawn to his gossiping intonation, Asa leaned closer.

"See… I've only ever seen their soldiers decked in full armor, their face always covered by these weird masks. When they captured my group, when they come to deliver that tasteless gruel they feed us, when they come to collect our blood with those needled pumps, every single time. Sometimes it's hard to tell if they're even human at all."

"Collect our blood!?" — Asa gulped, his memory wondering to the many tales of forbidden dark arts he had heard as a babe.

"Never mind that. What did caught my eye was that a good number of them were a bit more… ample around the chest and hips." — the blond teen emphasized by gesturing wide arches around both areas —"Several of those who brought you in today, were as such."

"You mean…"

"Women!" — he chortled — "Mother be damned, these people let women within their ranks!"

"But why would they…?" — when men were those ordained to sail beyond the Mother's cradle to make war, and onto the Mistress' depths in eventuality.

The rationale for a woman to venture such path, of their own volition or not, eluded Asa. While there were the odd case there and there, like Queen Vuong, those were mostly incidental or born out of necessity. And for several, as the Archos stated, to take up the life of a man-at-sea…

Or where these simple verities as foreign to the outsiders, as they were to him?

"Hey, life at sea leaves a man yearning. So why not have some whores close-by at all times? Just have to make sure they pull their own weight around the ship… I reckon that's their logic, and it's not unsound really. The Archigia should've thought of it ages ago, to help keep the spirits high, damn that dumb superstition." — the Archos theorized, noticing the Volare's puzzlement — "Or perhaps they're just like the Megas Archontes' daughter, and her would-be lot. A bunch of rich spoiled minxes playing war."

"What of blood magic? If they conjure their magic from our blood, those women could well be sorceresses. Vile daughters of the Scorned Mother, as in the legends." — his mind unrelenting, an ominous word came to the fore of Asa's trepidatious thoughts — "Demons…"

"They seem quite hospitable for demons… or any a servant of the Scorned Mother for that matter." — in contrast, the youngest of the two merely laughed off such notion — "A cozy bed, regular meals (bland as they may be), soft garments, warm and clean quarters… and even that odd thing over there."

He directed Asa's attention to the metallic drum near his bed's feet. Upon closer inspection, he was quick to notice that the top of the cylinder was concave, with several knobs hanging from the wall directly above it. Below that, protruding from one of its sides, there was a bowl in the shape of a wide cone, whose base connected with the floor.

The entire structure elicited a sense of eerie perplexity.

"Do you know what it's for?"

"Oh, yes. See the lower basin?"

"Umm…" — walking closer, Asa spotted a small puddle at its base — "…I see it."

"Good. Place your hand where the water is. Dip it in."

He did as instructed, though something in the Archos's tone raised some suspicion.

"Now, push the knob furthest to the right."

He was about to ask what to do next when the bottom of the bowl gave away, swallowing his hand whole, while streams of water gushed from the side with a rousing growl. Indeed it seemed to the now panicking Volare that the innocuous concavity was actually the maw of some beast, pushing his arm down its gullet to devour it. He frantically thrashed about in an effort to dislodge it, spraying water (saliva?) over much of his orange clothing and head in the process.

And through his desperate struggle, the Archos laughed and laughed.

"What ungodly monstrosity is this!?" — he gasped once freed from its cold metal grasp.

"Relax, kneeler. It's just some sort of intricate privy." — the blond teen assured, also struggling to catch his breath, albeit for very different reasons.

"A privy…"

"Yes. You'll learn that these folk are quite insistent in that we keep ourselves clean. That means they don't want us to relieve ourselves on the ground. So, don't go shit in a corner, like you'd usually do. And that white role on the left is so you can wipe yourself once you're done…" — the other prisoner explained, perching himself on his own mattress.

Drenched and agitated, Asa could only muster a glare as a reply.

"Oh don't look at me like that. Watching you and the rest of these idiots nearly soiling their breeches has been the only semblance of fun I've had since I've been stuck here." — another chuckle escaped the Archos' lips, as he threw his head against the pillow.

In no mood for more conversation, and in dire need to let his sore body rest, Asa followed suit after drying himself with a nearby towel. Much as it cried for sleep however, his mind still reeled from what he had been told, allowing for little more than a drowse. He watched as the white lights grew dim with time, as if mimicking a setting sun, to then die out entirely. Were it an indication that night had fallen outside also, and if the attack was yet to occur as the Archos suspected, then the Combine Fleet would reach Alnus soon.

 _Soon…_

…their sails would push them against those who had destroyed the League's Armada.

 _Soon…_

…his King would be throwing himself into the jaws of the grey ships and the wingless beasts.

 _Soon…_

…countless lives would be thrown to Her embrace… because of his failing.

 _Soon…_

…

…

…

…

After what must've been a couple of Oras submerged in total darkness, of silent prayers to any a God that would heed, every prisoner was stirred out of their beds by clanging doors. Several figures marched in near perfect synchrony through the hallways, dimly illuminated by the moonlight shining from the outside, a pair stopping in front of each of the occupied cells. It was the first chance the Volare had to see them up close.

They were clad head-to-toe in odd-looking armor, at a glance sturdy yet flexible. Most striking, and terrifying, however was the mask that covered their faces. It had no openings whatsoever; not for the eyes to see, not for nose or mouth to breathe through. In the former's place there were two rectangular crystals, from which short crab-like stalks protruded from, and in the latter's a flat snout with a metallic disk attached to its left side.

"Knee…! Knee…! Knee…! Knee…!" — they kept repeating in a thick muffled accent, commanding their captives to prostrate before them.

Asa hesitated for a brief instant, but was quick to comply once he saw the others doing the same, at which point both soldiers stepped inside the cell. While one kept his weapon – a lath-less crossbow it seemed – trained on him, the other moved behind his back and shackled his wrists behind his back. The Volare fought the temptation to jump the two and make a break for it, recalling the exceedingly powerful magic these people could wield.

"Foll-ow! Foll-ow!" — they urged once done restraining the prisoners.

An eerie quiet engulfed the whole of Alnus, made all the more hair-raising when contrasted to the maelstrom that was Combined Fleet in port. Of that vivacious scene, he saw nothing here. No ships, no provisions, no stock, no camp fires, no commotion, no odors, no encampment to speak of save for a few darken structures, nay a soul roaming the grounds save for the 14 men and their escorts.

The group was led to a hill overlooking the beaches and a wide section of the outer lagoon, with one of its islands to the left. Judging by its shape, Asa deduced they were in the smallest of the three, facing East, a fact confirmed when he spotted the largest loaming behind in the distance. Arriving at the crest, the guards made him and the rest halt, forming a semi-circle behind them, waiting…

Waiting…

Waiting…

The Volare's growing fears that they were about to be executed, as a pre-battle precaution, were assuaged when another figure eventually reached the top. Though donning the same armor and mask, the salute his presence prompted from the guards was a tell sign that he was a high ranking officer among the invaders.

"See…" — with a single word, the commander addressed the captives, nodding in the direction of the horizon in front of them.

Bereft of features at first, from the edges of Her domain, a large forest began to sprout.

* * *

 _Sustentava contra ele Vênus bela,_  
 _Afeiçoada à gente Lusitana,_  
 _Por quantas qualidades via nela_  
 _Da antiga tão amada sua Romana;_  
 _Nos fortes corações, na grande estrela,_  
 _Que mostraram na terra Tingitana,_  
 _E na língua, na qual quando imagina,_  
 _Com pouca corrupção crê que é a Latina._

* * *

Illuminated by a half moon, the contours of Alnus began to emerge from the horizon. With winds and current in their favor, the Combined Fleet made good progress towards the lagoon. Seven Oras passed since the massive conglomeration of ships had departed from their staging port, and there were no signs of both the enemy or the Armada still. Had everything gone according to the League's plan, then it would've meant that the latter had successfully lured the invaders away from Alnus, leaving its recapture to them exclusively.

Yet, the Keeper of the Aliantes hadn't return from his mission.

Negusa's unease only continued to grow as he peered through his looking glass, finding the looming islands enshrouded in total darkness, as if they were abandoned. Of course that could never be the case. Alnus, and the Gate more specifically, represented the invader's single logistical lane, and no sensible commander would ever leave it unguarded. If the enemy remained unseen, it was because they were hidden, lying in wait.

 _It's a trap…_

The sole conclusion he could arrive at.

But, at the same time, they were all powerless to stop it from being sprung. The ships could not simply turn around at a moment's notice and change their overarching strategy, no more than they could sail against the fustigating gales. Once in battle, tactics were subservient to a force's momentum. There was no turning back now, no option but to weather the coming storm.

Atop the castle prow of his flagship, sailing at the forefront of his contingent, Negusa also had a good view of the main columns of Vuong's, Boqor's and Hari's, tasked with recapturing the three islands in the lagoon. A few miles away, the others' were sailing into position by their flanks. Numerous landing crafts filled the space between ship rows, packed to the brim with eager warriors. It was but another source of worry to the monarch, as he knew well that his son-in-law would be amongst them, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to lead the troops ashore in person.

"My King."

"How fare the men?" — Negusa inquired his shipmaster, a salty codger with many revolutions at sea.

"Weary for the most part." — the balding man replied, scratching his white whiskers while surveying the archers, marines, and artillery crews stationed above deck — "Though, I reckon they're more frustrated that they won't get to participate in the coming battle. They're itching for action after a long, dull journey. Many feel it a waste without."

"To be expected." — he sighed.

"Aye. They're young… and brazen. Thirsty for glory." — more so given the sacred nature of Alnus, imbuing their duty with a sense of holy righteousness — "A few revolutions more and they'll be thanking the Mistress that they never had the chance."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"How so, my liege?"

"I do not believe the enemy would fall for the League's ruse." — were there any to begin with — "We'll face them at sea surely."

"Their ships are yet to be seen." — the shipmaster pointed out — "Perhaps concealed within Alnus itself? Past the Gate? Lacking in numbers, fighting inside the lagoon or from their side would be the most advantageous for them."

"True, that's where they… would… be…"

Negusa speech came to a crawl, as his and every crewmembers' eyes were transfixed by the uncanny sight above.

Falling stars… each burning bright red amid a black, now featureless sky.

A radiance equaling that of numerous miniature suns, inundating air and sea with a hideous crimson glow, as the Combined Fleet's vanguard reached the outer edges of Alnus. It was if the Heavens above were being rendered apart, bleeding upon the powerless mortals gazing at it in terror-struck awe.

"Mistress deliver us. What manner of unholy magic is this?"

Negusa did not know who among the crew had spoken, but it was a sentiment universally shared by remainder no doubt, of his ship or any other. In but an instant, the resolute drive from those aboard had been wholly shaken. Even when the blood stars were extinguished, many paid no mind to the orders being shouted at them by their more steel-minded comrades, too stupefied by the surreal spectacle.

 _Is this part of their strategy? To break our will beforehand?_

The King knew it was their doing. As he surveyed the islands for any signs of the invaders with heighten urgency, the frenetic beating of drums from the forward elements of the Fleet beckoned the start of the battle proper. North and South began picking up speed while the Center column maneuvered into the lagoon, the plethora of landing crafts that accompanied it rushing forward towards the beaches.

 _Where… Where… Where… Where… Where… Where… Where… Where… Where are they?_

Fate, it seemed, decided to answer.

Underneath the darken canopies of Alnus, the invaders made their presence truly known.

Flickers of white, beyond count, accompanied by a low whistling thunder.

"BRACE!-!-!" — Negusa shouted at the top of his lungs.

The men instinctively sought cover from the incoming projectiles…

…

…that never came crashing down.

It soon became evident that their vessel wasn't among the intended targets of the barrage, but rather the forward elements of the fleet. Not only that, but there had been no impact. Instead, whatever had been hurled at them, be it magic or simple artillery, disintegrated mid-air into a gleaming cloud.

Any sense of relief proved fleeting however.

From each explosion, numerous jellyfish-like tendrils of scorching white fanned out, and fell upon the ships beneath. Sails, masts and decks were set alight by their fiery ensnare, burning with a virulent intensity as soon as a streak would touch it. To the unending horror of those in witness, once proud vessels of the Combined Fleet became nothing but pyres set adrift, their rhythmic drumming replaced with a cacophonic dirge of crackling fires and anguished wails.

Worse still, the befalling carnage was not without aim, Negusa realized. The initial salvo had been directed specifically at the front and flanks of each of the three main formations, boxing the remainder in a ring of fire, sealing their fate. As the desperate crews fought desperately to maneuver away from the burning wrecks, more explosions rocked the skies above, more tendrils rained down in rapid, tireless succession.

North, Center, South… it wasn't long before the waters of Alnus boiled with the corpses of the Combined Fleet.

"My King!"

Little more than a couple of Micros must've passed.

"My King!"

For one of the most powerful forces in Her expanse to meet its utter ruin.

"My King!"

Were they contending with Gods?

"My King!"

No… it was never a contest… only slaughter.

"My King! What are your orders!?" — the shipmaster begged.

 _Flee._ Is what he and the men wanted their petrified liege to say, awayfrom that hell, before it consumed them as well.

But it was already too late.

An explosion rocked the ship by its portside, knocking its occupants off their feet. As his senses gradually recovered from the loud ringing inside his skull, Negusa first registered the acrid white smoke going down his nostrils, mixed with the distinct stench of burnt meat. Next were the pale flames gutting the masts and stern castle, like scissors through cloth. Then, as his vision further unclouded, the men that had been manning them, now thrown into a dolorous frenzy. Their clothes, hair and skin charred, incandescent sparks burrowing deep into their flesh, leaving it clustered like a sponge.

In aphonic agony, many leapt overboard to Her waiting embrace, a relief from the searing pain. Others could only writhe on the floor, pleading to their unscathed comrades by the broadside prow, to the Gods for an end to their torment. The former could only look on in impotent horror, their minds teetering on the verge of insanity by the ghastly sight. The latter cared not, it appeared.

Averting his gaze from this waking nightmare, Negusa spotted more flashes in the distance amid his daze.

But that couldn't be right. He was facing the direction opposite to Alnus, so… how come? From the sea…?

 _The grey ships._

The monarch understood as, one by one, he watched his own being swallowed by their otherworldly fire. He had found them at last, beyond the horizon, where he could not even see them. Only their deathly wake.

"We will not die here…" — there was no escape, they were trapped.

"M-M-My King?" — no where left to run… but forward, to the enemy.

"Every man that can hold a weapon!" — the King rose to his feet, his sword held aloft — "To the rafts! To Alnus!"

Horns bellowed, a defiant cry propagating over what was left of his kingdom's burning fleet. The survivors heeded their liege's call, perhaps invigorated by the sheer hopelessness of their situation, despair turned into wild abandon. Gods or not, Negusa was determined to challenge their victory to the last. Boarding the few remaining row and chariot boats, they charged headlong into the inferno, and the fray that would await farther.

"Row! Forward! Row! Forward! Row!" — officers screamed in rhythm, spurring the men at the oars, while coachmen struggled to keep the Ippos under control as the tow-beasts paddled through the burning remains of the Combined Fleet.

At the helm of the ramshackle flotilla, Negusa rallied himself for what was to come. A blanket of black smoke, debris and moribund littered their path, many of the latter using the last of their strength to reach out to the passing boats, thinking them rescuers. But none heeded the chorus of begging sobs, none could.

What little prospect the King already had of somehow returning alive from this one-sided slaughter, the stygian traverse only served to cement the elusiveness of such outcome. More so seeing that most of the burning wrecks they passed by had once belonged to Boqor, as evident by the torn heraldry his eyes happened to find wherever they looked.

Then, as they cleared the outer reef banks, he happened to spot other, older corpses lined between the two easternmost isles. Most prominent of all was that of the _Glorious Reclamation_ , pride of the Armada and mightiest ship in the Great Circle, its unmistakably decorated prow standing upright among dozens of its half-sunken brethren.

 _They knew._

The realization came little of a surprise at that point.

The vagueness surrounding the invaders, their own mission and the League's role in it.

The absurd order to launch an all-out assault in the dead of night, without performing prior reconnaissance.

All of it... just so they wouldn't catch wind that Alnus had been turned into the Armada's graveyard, until the Combined Fleet was also condemned to join it. It was a trap from the very start, but not of the invaders doing. Their true enemy had always lied in the League.

Negusa had but a few moments left to wish retribution upon their accursed ilk, for this and every other ignominy suffered. Gods or invaders, he cared not who delivered it, just that they be avenged.

"Off the boat! Off the boat! Move! Move!" — the men began shouting as, in quick succession, their wooden crafts crashed onto the sandbanks just off the coast of Alnus' smallest island.

"ONWARD!-!-!"

A single guttural warcry resonating through their ranks.

"ONWARD!-!-!"

As they advanced into the beach proper by the hundreds, as if compelled by the tide itself, bereft of discipline or care for their own self-being.

"ONWARD!-!-!"

Their King at the vanguard, spurring them on.

"ON-!-!-!"

To be cut down as from the beach's underbrush a thunderstorm flared, and a downpour of bright lances spew forth.

An interminable volley of buzzing streaks tore through the disorganized mob, men rendered frayed corpses even before they'd slump down. Many instinctively fell into a crawl, diving beneath Her waist-deep waters as to shelter themselves from the flashing projectiles, some making use of their fallen comrades as shields even. It was to little avail, as the large blue mass around them shook and belched with tremendous force, flinging limbs and bodies in opposite directions. Several of the landing boats were disintegrated as trails of whizzing smoke struck home, reducing any unfortunate occupant to little more than a gory chunk of charred flesh.

It was through this bloodletting that Negusa and his warriors trudged on regardless, dragging themselves to the beach with little more than the waves and the very precipitating fire falling upon them to orient them amidst the dazing chaos.

"Onwards!" — he kept rallying the men… anyone who could heed his cries.

They had keep moving forward…

"Onwards!"

Bring the battle to them...

"Onwards!"

To them… those he saw when he finally reached dry land… darken figures by the shrubbery.

"There! THERE!-!-!" — seeing his enemy so close filled him with renewed vigor — "ONWA-!"

But came to a halt when a strange object landed a few feet away from him… what under the flickering nighttime looked to be some kind of green fruit. Whether by instinct or curiosity, he reached out to it with his free hand…

"-!"

…only to be knocked away by a powerful, boiling wind, robbing him of his consciousness.

…

…

…

…

" _Olé_!"

…

…

He first felt the Her swells crashing on his back, Her foamy and coppery brine invading his mouth and nose.

…

…

" _Olé_!"

Next was the pain, his entire body crying out in agony, save for the left forearm it now lacked.

…

His ears were no longer assaulted by the hailing light… only the dying moans of his men…

" _Olé_!"

…and laughter.

Opening his eyes, illuminated by pale moonlight and fluttering pyres abaft, he saw a shoreline blanketed with bodies… and several armored figures strolling past them, putting those that still lived out of their misery.

" _Olé_!"

Three of them, however, were taking a perverse joy in taunting a floundering, armless soldier, making a twisted game out of goading him, and then sidestepping his pitiful blows with ease, each time chanting in unison…

" _Olé!_ "

…as they watched him wallow past them, sneering at the valiant (but forlorn) struggle he was putting up.

" _Olé_!"

Maybe it was the sheer glee they took out of ridiculing him, denying a proud warrior his quick and dignified end and, by extent, making a mockery of his and his fellow men-at-sea's sacrifice.

" _Olé_!"

Or perhaps it was the realization that he would never return to his land, to his subjects, to his family. His daughter, widowed and fatherless. His kingdom, left vulnerable to the predations of these blackguards, and those of the traitorous League.

" _Olé_!"

Negusa was overwhelmed by an erupting ire, leaping back to his feet as his body seemingly ignored the injuries it had sustained. He charged at the enemy, determined to make them pay for their contempt, to drag at least one of them down with him to Her waiting Depths…

" _O-_!?"

But before he could reach them, his knees buckled halfway, his back stung by two sharp bangs that sapped his limbs of all strength.

" _Maldita seja! Cuidado! Este tá vivo!_ "

Collapsing on his back, the King was granted one last glance at the Her Expanse, where the Combined Fleet burned still, before his executioner came into view, looming over him with a small L-shaped stick pointed at his head.

"Ah… ah…!" — amidst his woe, Negusa still had in him to be surprised.

The Mistress was cruel indeed, to send of all things a woman to deliver him to Her embrace…

" _Hijo de puta!_ " — one last reminder of the daughter that would never see him again.

The sky brighten one last time before the dusk came everlasting.

* * *

 _Qual Austro fero, ou Bóreas na espessura_  
 _De silvestre arvoredo abastecida,_  
 _Rompendo os ramos vão da mata escura,_  
 _Com ímpeto e braveza desmedida;_  
 _Brama toda a montanha, o som murmura,_  
 _Rompem-se as folhas, ferve a serra erguida:_  
 _Tal andava o tumulto levantado,_  
 _Entre os Deuses, no Olimpo consagrado._

* * *

King Negusa gazed at the blue sky above with a smile on his face, and a crimson hole burrowed in his forehead.

More than the aftermath of last night's carnage, it was the monarch's joyous expression, sole among those lain upon the redden sand, that would forever haunt his dreams until the day he too would join him in Her Depths.

Asa couldn't help but to blame himself for the fate that befell his King, his compatriots, and the entire Combined Fleet.

If only he hadn't let himself be discovered and captured…

If only he had reported back and warned them of the League's deceit…

If only he had fulfilled his duty, then perhaps…

But instead, because of his failure, he got to see his liege's corpse being covered by a white cloth, becoming just one of the many, many faceless fallen lined up along the shore, where the small group of prisoners had been brought to come the morning.

Fourteen more bodies to add to the grim panoply of tattered, gutted, burned, and torn flesh that peppered the golden beach, the Volare figured.

Why were they sent back to their cells after it was all over, he did not know, but none had slept till the masked soldiers came for them again. Even under the daylight, these mysterious people looked no less uncanny, with their colorful blue uniforms in garish, mishmash patterns, further amplifying their foreign nature. Though they had the ostensible manner of any son of the Mother, having bore witness to the power they commanded, rivaling that of a God, lend them a much higher presence than that of any human being.

Yet, in stark visual contrast to the devastation they wrought, the atmosphere surrounding them was one of tranquility. Many of the masked soldiers carry themselves in a relaxed manner, strolling through the crimson-tinged shore, as if this sort of ruination was a common sight to them. Another peculiar detail that the Volare happen to notice, was that many talked to their lapels, as if having a conversation with the small black object attached to it. He speculated that it could be inhabited by some sort of bound spirit, one linked to the sorcery they wielded maybe. And, as the Archos had made a point of mentioning, some of them were markedly women.

Unlike the previous night, the island (and indeed the whole of Alnus) brimmed with activity, mostly revolving around the smoke-filled battlefield. Wingless beasts constantly roamed the skies above, not unlike a pack of gulls circling around a shipwreck hoping to gorge themselves on rotting flesh. But taking center stage, trailing across the waters around the graveyard of the Combined Fleet, were the fabled grey ships the Archos had spoken of. More than their metallic skin, it was their wholly unintuitive design that struck Asa as the oddest. At the center of each ship stood a single castle, rather than at its rear and/or front, all lacking any manner of masts or oars but no less mobile for it, along with strange markings across the prow.

And, yet, these had to be small vessels… at least for the invaders. Asa knew that such a powerful people would be capable of building much larger ships, merely that couldn't bring them through the Gate… yet. He could only imagine what sort of colossal beasts lay in wait on the other side.

Fears about an impending execution were allayed when the group was lead to an odd looking raft awaiting them by the shoreline. It was painted black, and instead of wood or metal it was made of squishy cloth, as if stuffed with air. Like the grey ships, it lacked sails or handles for oars, nor was it pulled by Ippos or creatures of any kind, no other distinct feature beyond a raised platform for the helms wheel. Yet, as soon as they were lead aboard by the escorting guards, it lurched forward, with a grinding rumble coming from the bottom end of the boat propelling them into Her Expanse.

Then came a melody… its pace slow, melancholic.

At first, Asa thought his ears were playing a trick on him but, as the chime of strings grew louder, he and the others realized it was indeed a tune being played, even though neither them or the masked soldiers held any sort of musical instrument. If he had to put it, it was like the boat they were standing on was playing it… or the Mistress herself was singing around them.

Then came words…

 _~This is the end~_

An alien tongue, one he did not comprehend.

 _~Beautiful friend~_

But the weight behind those words.

 _~This is the end~_

That was unmistakable, no matter the language.

 _~My only friend… the end~_

It told of sorrow and departure, he was certain.

 _~Of our elaborate plans… the end~_

A most fitting refrain, as the raft made its way through the still fuming wrecks of the Combined Fleet, pass wooden carcasses that once belonged to King Boqor and Queen Vuong.

 _~Of everything that stands… the end~_

Asa was granted a privileged look at the aftermath of the storm that fustigated the once proud vessels, when thunder howled from all over Alnus and the very sky above them was set ablaze the night before.

 _~No safety or surprise… the end~_

The waters they traversed were cluttered with their burnt-out debris, and many of their crews still lay atop the half-sunken ships, their flesh singed black and ragged by numerous holes.

 _~I'll never look into your eyes… again~_

"Mistress deliver us… What are they doing?"

It seemed that the invaders were not keen in delivering the departed to Her Embrace though, collecting not only these bodies, but prying up those already in the water from Her grasp, placing them in barges that would carry Her mandated tribute ashore.

 _~Can you picture what will be?~_

"Demons. They're demons… demons of the Scorned Mother. To so surely affront the Deep Mistress. To deny Her."

The Volare knew not if it was madness, or the mere assurance of their power, that compelled them to provoke the wrath of the very ocean they traveled across upon them.

 _~So limitless and free~_

But what troubled him the most was that not even in death would he be able to ask his liege for forgiveness.

 _~Desperately in need of some… stranger's hand~_

That stigma would forever be his.

 _~In a… desperate land~_

Clearing the burial site, Asa could now see where his group was being taken to. Not to one of their grey ships, but rather a small sloop bearing the marks of King Negusa, beaten but still seaworthy at a distance. More men dressed in blue awaited them atop its deck, one of which Asa recognized as the same high ranking officer who had made them spectators to the ruin of the Combined Fleet.

Nodding to his subordinates, each prisoner was handed a bundle of clothes, Asa's being a Volare uniform… _his_ Volare uniform, much to his surprise. The same he had worn when he flew to Alnus the previous day, only looking brand new after having been cleaned up of all dirt. The others too received back their respective garments, ranging from the Archos' gaudy attire to the plain garbs of a deckhand.

"Go." — the commander instructed them in a curt tone, as the men in blue emptied the deck back to the smaller black boat, in essence setting Asa and the others free.

"What…?" — Asa asked, not sure what to make of all this — "Why are you freeing us? Why?"

"Go… tell… what saw… Alnus… war us… death comes…" — he informed before climbing down to waiting raft himself.

 _"_ I see… _"_

It all made sense now. Why they kept them alive, why they weren't taken into their side, why they were made to watch the destruction of the Combined Fleet. For mercy, the invaders were to make them their heralds.

 _~Lost in a Roman… wilderness of pain~_

Even Gods needed their Oracles after all.

 _~And all the children… are insane~_

Fourteen men set sail from Alnus.

 _~All the children are insane~_

To which port, to Her ever-waiting Embrace, it mattered not to any of them.

 _~Waiting for the summer rain… yeah!~_

* * *

 _Mas Marte, que da Deusa sustentava_  
 _Entre todos as partes em porfia,_  
 _Ou porque o amor antigo o obrigava,_  
 _Ou porque a gente forte o merecia,_  
 _De entre os Deuses em pé se levantava:_  
 _Merencório no gesto parecia;_  
 _O forte escudo ao colo pendurado_  
 _Deitando para trás, medonho e irado,_

* * *

"Are the reports accurate?"

"Our informants assure us that they are. The whole Combined Fleet sunk. The Peripheral Realms pose a challenge to the League's authority no more, your Sublime Serenity."

"And of their Blood-Kings?"

"Nay a word back. Dead or captured, in all likelihood."

"Excellent. Without a blood-liege to grovel to, no kneeler will dare to contest that which is ours by right. Now that the League _generously_ took it upon itself to protect their sea lanes, after this _unfortunate_ debacle. A most favorable outcome to us, wouldn't you say, Diobachus?"

"Yes, Megas Archontes…"

"But…?"

"But what of the outsiders, may I ask? How shall we deal with them? We may have got ridden of the threat the Peripheral Realms pose, true, but as long as the men in blue and their grey ships remain in Alnus…"

"Fret not, dear friend. They do not possess the numbers nor the strength to reaches us from there. We're safe here… and they'll be dealt with, in due time. By our hand, or that of a ireful deity… who knows?"

"And your daughter, if I may be so bold? To send her-"

"The girl has been aching to prove herself. Why not let her? She may just end up surpassing my expectations, with any luck. Though I doubt it…"

"I see…"

"And, as was said, there's merit in her assignment. We made a grave mistake in gambling the entire Armada so heedlessly, thinking only of the riches and glorious conquest that awaited us on the other side of the Gate. Victory is often a rotten friend, an enabler of complacency… and the League's relationship with it has been storied and long. _Too_ long it seems. Hopefully, our undertaking will see us through these dire times."

"Yet, for you to abscond of a full third of your House's trade flotilla…"

"Ships that were soon scheduled to be replaced anyway, with crews loyal to me, and to me alone. That will now come to compose the majority of the rebuilt Armada. Those fools in the Consortium honestly believe I relinquished an advantage. Instead, they gave me sole control of the Armada on a platter."

"While weakening the other Houses in the process, no less. It is as they say… a good merchant cuts his losses, a better one recoups them with interest. And no finer exist than those of House Cai Pi, as you and your esteemed predecessors are more than proof of."

"Indeed. The Mistress has always been kindest to my family, and I do not believe such fortunes will change. It is upon our foes, those that seek to unravel all we've built, that her fury will hammer down. The sea to them unknown, will swallow them whole, just as theirs did to us. The Mistress will not take to these foreigners with affection. How many men-at-sea, how many ships were lost to her capricious whims, before our forbearers learned to please her? Before she taught them how to love her?

How many will they?"

* * *

 _Como isto disse, o Padre poderoso,_  
 _A cabeça inclinando, consentiu_  
 _No que disse Mavorte valeroso,_  
 _E néctar sobre todos esparziu._  
 _Pelo caminho Lácteo glorioso_  
 _Logo cada um dos Deuses se partiu,_  
 _Fazendo seus reais acatamentos,_  
 _Para os determinados aposentos._

* * *

 **GATE — …and gave new worlds to the World.**

* * *

 **:**

 **:**

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What better way to celebrate two years in than releasing **two** new chapters at the same time?

So be sure to check out **Kono** **｢** **Kimy** **ō** **｣** **:** **God's Blessings on This** **｢** **Bizarre Adventure** **｣** **!** , or any of my other fics, if you have the time :)

Now that he got the shameless plug out of the way…

 _Phew_.

I really, _REALLY_ hope I don't go another 10 months without updating this story since I enjoy writing it, but simply lack the time to do so due to my real-life commitments and the _other_ stories I'm currently writing. So to anyone wondering if this (or any fic of mine) is dead, be sure to check out my profile, as I'll try to keep it updated with the current status of all my fics.

Now onto the chapter itself…

The title and intermitting stanzas come, yet again, from the Lusiadas (check out Chapter 1 for more details), this time from the 'Consílio dos Deuses' (Council of the Gods) episode, where the Gods in Olympus gather to discuss Vasco da Gama's historic journey to India, and what to make of it. Whether to give it their blessing or oppose it. I found the title more than appropriate since he spent the whole chapter dealing with the Gateworlders reaction to the arrival of the Portuguese (and their allies).

The League is of course standing in for the Empire, a mesh of Classical Athens with Renaissance Venice (plus a smidgen of Roman Republicanism), and the metaphorical Olympus spoken of in the poem. In fact the Archons names are based on the gods themselves, with Diobachus (Dionysus+Bachus) standing against the newcomers much like the eponymous God and coming to blows with Aphronus (Aphrodite+Venus) who supported them, while Aremar (Ares+Mars) maintained order.

As for not-Pina… do remember that in this world family names come first, given names second.

The Great Circle and the Periphery are heavily based on the Indian Ocean, with each realm and monarch representing a major cultural group that could be found in it at the dawn of the 16th century. Those being: Ethiopia(Negusa), Swahili(Boqor), Persia(Padishah), India(Samrat), the East Indies(Hari), Indochina(Vuong), China(Gun) and Japan(Okimi).

Finally, we've the Deep Mistress and the Scorned Mother. I'll get into more detail about the two as the story progresses but, as can probably tell already, the former will fill in Emloy's role, and the latter Hardy's.

Lastly, for those curious and/or confused with the terminologies used during the chapter, here's a succinct glossary of the terms:

Armada «=» War Navy ( _duh_ )

Archos «=» general term for a naval officer of the Armada

Archigia «=» Admiralty

Trierarchos «=» Captain

Navarchos «=» Admiral

Ypon Navarchos «=» Rear Admiral

Megas Navarchos «=» Grand Admiral

Lord-Constituent of the Grand Consortium «=» Senator

Consiglio «=» Senate

Proedros «=» Speaker

Telalis «=» Herald

Archon «=» Minister

Megas Archontes «=» similar to a Venetian Doge

Micro «=» Gateworld equivalent of a minute

Ora «=» Gateworld equivalent of an hour

Revolution «=» Gateworld equivalent of a year

Volare «=» a flying beast-rider

Aliante «=» a Volare's mount

Ippos «=» a water stead

And to those wondering about the song playing towards the end, I recommend looking up the intro to _Apocalypse Now_ for maximum effect.

As always, leave a review and/or send me a PM if you liked the story so far or want to share your opinions and criticisms.

Many thanks.


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